Love That You'll Regret
by TMara
Summary: After the fire at the Populaire, Erik is presumed dead, and Christine marries Raoul. But all is not well and she soon begins missing her lost love. Will she get a second chance?
1. Prologue

Hi everybody,

no, "Hearts May Get Broken" is not being abandoned. It will get finished, soon. But you have probably all realized that it won't go on for much longer, so it's time to start a new story. I hope by now you all know me well enough to know that I would never write R/C, even though it may look that way at first. That's all I am going to tell you right away.

The story is again movie-based, and it will feature Nadir, so some Kay may be in there somewhere. The title is of course borrowed from "Love Never Dies", but I still don't own anything or anybody even remotely POTO- or LND-connected.

Prologue

Christine Daaé was fretting. She nervously glanced at the rococo wall-clock again, probably for the hundredth time in the past five minutes, then sighed. Raoul had only left about an hour ago to check on the condition of the Opera Populaire, to get an estimate of how much damage had been caused by last night's fire. He had also promised her to ask about her colleagues and friends like the Girys, to find out if they had survived the catastrophe unscathed.

She knew her fiancé could not possibly be back yet and that she should relax, rest a bit more after the almost sleepless night, but her nerves were on edge. So much had happened in such a short time, and to think that all the horror had happened because of her! Because two men had fought for her love, one disfigured, ugly, criminal, yet deeply alluring and a musical genius, the other one handsome, rich, respectable – the safe choice. She had handled the situation badly, she realized, and as a result she had broken one man's heart and had very nearly got the other one killed. Christine shuddered at the memory of the previous night's events. The man she had called her angel had been so unhinged, deranged, it had almost physically hurt to see him rage like that. And yet... she had been willing to stay with him as his wife, in order to save dear Raoul's life.

Christine nervously paced up and down her room, trying to put last night behind her, to concentrate on the present and on her future with her beloved Raoul. They had been sweethearts even as children. They were certainly meant to be together.

Two hours and a million glances at the clock later, Christine finally heard Raoul's carriage returning. She stormed out of her room to meet him in the foyer. The moment she ran down the marble staircase, her fiancé came in through the front door.

"Christine," Raoul yelled, his voice sounding jubilant. "You are free! He can't hurt us anymore. The monster is dead!"

Christine stopped dead in her tracks. She knew this was good news and she should be just as happy as Raoul was. After all, the man in question had been a criminal and had obviously received the well deserved punishment for his crimes. Then why was she suddenly experiencing this feeling of emptiness, as if there were a huge hole in her chest?

While she was still pondering her strange reaction, Raoul had reached her. He hugged her tight and kissed her on the mouth. "Is my Little Lotte speechless with happiness?" he teased. Christine nodded. She plastered a big, fake smile on her face and forced back the tears that had threatened to form in the corner of her eyes. "How?" she whispered.

Raoul smiled. "You can believe me," he said. "Your own friend Meg was one of the witnesses that saw him die. She is fine, by the way, as is her mother, I talked to both of them. Last night Meg was with a group of gendarmes and angry audience members that went in search of that beast. You remember hearing their voices, when we left, don't you? They found his lair deserted, but there was a secret passageway that had been covered up by a mirror. They entered, and soon saw the man running, not too far ahead of them, when suddenly the tunnel collapsed and buried him underneath. Meg and the others were far enough behind him so that they did not get hurt, but the monster was crushed. No man could survive such a cave in."

He interrupted himself when he noticed how silent the woman in his arms was, how unenthusiastic. "Are you not glad that he is gone, Lotte? We can get married now and never have to fear that he will come for you again!" he announced.

Christine shuddered. Dead. Her angel was dead. She suddenly realized how lonely she was. She had lost everything: her father, her angel, her home at the Opera Populaire, her job. Raoul was all she had left. "Hold me, Raoul," she begged, " hold me, I love you. Let's get married as soon as possible."

Raoul kissed her again, then picked her up and whirled her around. "My Little Lotte, I will arrange everything, we can probably get married within a fortnight. Would you like that?" Christine nodded. The sooner they would get married, the sooner she would belong to him, the sooner she would not be so lonely anymore. But while she smiled at her fiancé, her eyes burned with unshed tears.


	2. Rescue

First of all: Happy Easter!

Second: March was my most successful month so far, with the highest number of hits and visitors. Thank you all so much for your support!

Third: I had originally planned to finish "Hearts May Get Broken" before continuing this one, but my two reviewers are apparently concerned about Erik's chances at survival in this story, and I don't want them to worry too much longer….

Fourth: I don't own anything and anybody, but you already know that, so on to the first chapter.

Chapter 1 – Rescue

The day after the fire, huge crowds of curious Parisians went to the ruins of the Opera Populaire to see what was left of it and maybe hear some rumors about what exactly had happened, how the fire had started. The fire was mostly extinguished by then, only the occasional flame flickered here and there and was quickly put out by the members of the fire brigade that were still working there.

The building had been declared unsafe and cordoned off to prevent unauthorized access, but a group of men and women had installed themselves in front of what had been the main entrance. They looked as if they had not been home since the night before. Their clothes were dirty, even torn and they had all sorts of items with them that could be used as weapons: pieces of debris, sticks, and similar devices. They had become heroes overnight, for they were the ones that had seen the famous Phantom die.

After they had followed the criminal to his lair and hunted him to death, they had celebrated their victory, and when they had finally been ready to go home, the first journalists and curious onlookers had shown up and they had started telling their story. Several hours later, they were still at it, repeating over and over again, how the fugitive criminal had been killed by a collapsing subterranean corridor. On occasion someone asked a question, but mostly their audiences cheered them on and congratulated them for having defeated the monster that had been haunting the Opera Populaire for so long and now had caused its destruction.

Once again, the self-proclaimed heroes had finished their story and kindly asked those that already knew about the beast's end to step aside so that newcomers would get a chance to listen to their tale. The group in front of them dissolved and those that had been waiting in the back approached so that they could hear the amazing story.

Two elderly men that had just listened to the mob's retelling of their adventures, left the crowd in front of the opera house walking in different directions, but they met each other again a few streets away.

"Do you think…?" one of them started a conversation, only to be hushed by his companion. "Not here, Darius," the other man said, "Let's go home first." They walked silently side by side, until they reached the apartment building where they lived.

Only once they had settled down in the sitting room of their apartment, did they discuss the situation. "Something is wrong," Nadir Khan said. "When I heard about last night's events I was so certain that Erik would come here to hide. He obviously has not done so. These people who have hunted him, seem to think he is dead, but…" he paused to think.

"If the corridor collapsed…" the manservant Darius reminded his master. "I know," Nadir acknowledged. "He might be dead. But they mentioned the passageway behind his mirror. That one goes straight to the only corridor that leads to the exit on Rue Scribe. I know that Erik had a trap somewhere along this corridor to fight off pursuers should he ever have to flee. I seem to remember that he mentioned something like a collapsible corridor, but if it were that, he would have been able to escape and most likely come here."

Darius looked at him. "Is it possible that the mechanism was somehow faulty? That something went wrong and a larger part of the roof came down than was planned or something like that?"

Nadir shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Erik does not make such mistakes. I am sure the trap was fool-proof." He suddenly interrupted himself and stared ahead. "The fire," he whispered. "Oh my God, the fire must have affected the building's structural integrity and might have caused Erik's mechanism to malfunction. He may very well be buried underneath the collapsed roof down there."

Darius did not have to ask what course of action Nadir was planning to take, he knew exactly what his master was thinking. "You are going down," he stated. "You want to know for sure if he is dead." Nadir nodded. "We can go in through the Rue Scribe. Since access to that entrance is blocked from the inside by the cave in, nobody will have found the connection between the little gate in the Rue Scribe and the opera house. If he is dead, we'll see to it that he gets a decent burial, if he is gone, we know that he is alive, but if…" Nadir suddenly shuddered.

"We must go at once," Darius suggested. "Master Erik may be injured and need help." Nadir sighed. "We have to wait till it gets dark," he said. "Even if we can get in without causing suspicion, if he is injured we cannot get him out and bring him here safely until it's dark. If someone saw us and recognized him…"

Darius had to admit that his master had a point, yet he objected. "What if he is seriously injured?" he asked. "In a few hours it may be too late." Nadir sighed. "He is in Allah's hand," he murmured. "We cannot risk looking for him until it's dark enough. Fortunately today we have an overcast sky and in February it gets dark soon anyway. We may be able to leave in about two hours. Maybe we can put together a first aid kit in the meantime, in case we'll need that."

Xxxx

Two hours later the two men made their way to the Rue Scribe. Nadir thanked Allah that Erik had trusted him with a spare key. They would have had to wait till much later if they had to pick the lock. Nadir quickly unlocked the door and let them in, closing the door behind them. Once inside, he pulled a lantern from his bag and lit it. Then he led the way.

A few hundred meters farther ahead, the two men heard nervous neighing. "César," Nadir exclaimed. "I have completely forgotten about the horse. If the stallion is still here, Erik must be as well,…" He did not finish his thought. Dead or alive. Erik had obviously never left the building, but was it because he was dead – or injured and in need of help?

The two men hurried along, even more nervous than before. If Erik was still alive, he must be so badly hurt that he could not leave on his own. In that case every minute could make a difference. The question only was – would they still be in time?

Nadir turned yet another corner. When his lantern's shine fell on the debris of the collapsed corridor he gasped. A figure lay this side of the debris, pinned down by a large wooden beam. As Nadir approached to examine the body, he heard a soft moan.

"Quick, Darius," he called. "He is still alive, let's get that beam off him!" And together the two men hauled the beam out of the way, then Nadir crouched down next to his friend to determine the extent of his injuries. Erik was lying on his left side, his unmasked right cheek and temple clearly visible – as clearly as the open wound that ran across his deformity. It had obviously bled extensively, but at some point the blood had caked. The whole deformed side of Erik's head was badly bruised, showing all colors of the rainbow, his right eye was swollen shut.

"The head wound looks nasty," Nadir commented, "I will probably have to stitch it, though Allah only knows how his delicate skin in that area will react to stitching. Most likely he has a concussion as well. I don't like the fact that he is unconscious, though he is also feverish, which might account for that." He then proceeded to examine the rest of Erik's right side that had been hit by the beam. "His right arm is broken," he stated matter-of-factly, "but that will heal, and two or three ribs are at least slightly cracked, if not broken, and his whole right side is bruised."

He looked up at Darius. "We need to get him home, the faster, the better. The damp air down here is not helping any, and I definitely need more light in order to set the bone in his broken arm and to stitch his head wound."

The two men looked at each other helplessly. Erik was slender, but he was tall, therefore heavy enough that the prospect of carrying the unconscious man all the way back to their home did not appeal to them. "The horse," Nadir suddenly said. "Allah is looking down upon us. We will be able to use the horse to transport him."

Even with César's help, it took them another hour to get Erik first to the stallion's stable, then on the horse, with Nadir sitting behind him and keeping him from falling off, and finally back to their home. While Darius brought César to a nearby stable, where he would be cared for till Erik would be well enough again to claim him, Nadir started to work on his friend's injuries. He cautiously cleaned Erik's head wound, disinfected it and carefully stitched it. "I am afraid it won't look any better now," he murmured, while bandaging Erik's head.

He then went on to set the bone in Erik's broken arm, then splintered it and bandaged it as well. At last he wrapped Erik's torso to provide some support for the broken ribs. He then looked at his friend. Erik's skin was always rather pale, but due to the blood loss from the head wound his features now looked almost yellowish. He was still unconscious, and his fever had started to rise. Nadir was worried. He had done all he could for his friend, but he was not really a doctor and he did not dare ask a real doctor for advice, because he was not sure he could trust anybody except his own servant. If what he had been able to do was not good enough….

"Allah, look down upon this misguided young man," he prayed. "He has committed lots of sins, but I know that he has a kind, compassionate heart, and his crimes are just as much the fault of those that have abused him because of his face, as they are his fault. Let him make a full recovery, oh Allah!"

Xxxx

Several days followed that kept Nadir and Darius worried. Their patient did not regain consciousness, and his fever reached dangerous levels. When he got delirious they had trouble keeping him from thrashing too much and injuring his broken arm even further.

The first two or three days Nadir was glad, his friend was unconscious. Erik would have hated the headlines in the papers talking about the fiend's demise, and the huge announcement of the impending nuptials of the Vicomte de Chagny and the young diva, who the Vicomte had valiantly saved from the clutches of the monster, would have deeply hurt his friend. Of course, Erik would have to learn about these facts sooner or later, but Nadir preferred it to be later, once Erik would be sufficiently recovered to deal with the loss of his love.

The longer Erik's illness continued without any improvement, though, the more worried Nadir got. Had his friend sustained some internal damage as well? Why did he not wake up? Was the head injury more severe than he had originally thought? Was Erik's brain affected? Certainly the thin skin on the right side of his face did not provide as much protection as other people's more robust skin might have. What if Erik was comatose? What if his friend would never wake up again?

Xxxx

After about a week, Erik was going through some type of crisis. His fever rose up to incredible heights, only to drop again within the next few hours to dangerously low levels. Nadir and Darius barely left his side, anxiously waiting for a change in his condition. Praying to Allah for his life.

Almost an entire day went by, where the two men feared every moment for their friend's life, then Erik suddenly seemed to relax, and when Nadir touched the injured man's forehead, his temperature was the closest to normal it had been since they had brought him to their home.

"There is hope now," Nadir sighed, relieved. "I am sure now that he will live, though what we do if he does not wake up soon, I have no idea."

Xxxx

Erik stirred. He felt drowsy. And he was in pain. He had a terrible headache and the entire right side of his body hurt. What had happened? Why was he in such a condition? He tried to open his eyes, but heard a soft voice saying, "easy, Erik, stay put, try not to move too much, it will make your headache worse."

Erik? He wondered. Was this person speaking to him? Was his name Erik? Then realization hit him like a shock: He had no idea who he was, where he was, why he was in so much pain, or who that person was that had just talked to him, though the voice seemed vaguely familiar. "I am sure I know that man," he thought by himself, "but I do not know who he is, where I met him, what his name is."

He forced his left eye open. Why could he not seem to open his right eye as well? Then he glanced at the man sitting at his bed side. "Of course," he thought, "that's what he looks like, I knew it." Deep down his subconscious remembered that that was the way the person looked like to whom belonged the voice he had just heard.

"Where am I?" he rasped. Nadir stared at him, puzzled. Erik had been to his apartment before and should recognize the guest room. "Well, you are of course here with me in my apartment," he said uncertainly, putting a glass of water to Erik's parched lips so that the latter could take a sip.

Erik did not find this answer too satisfactory. "Who..?" he mumbled. "Your name…?" Nadir gasped. This was no joke. Erik was far too weak to think of pranks. "You do not remember my name?" he asked.

"No," Erik's answer was barely more than a whisper. Nadir closed his eyes. How was he to handle this? Erik was obviously suffering from a memory loss. How did one treat such a problem? Would it be permanent or would Erik eventually regain his memory? Nadir almost hoped this condition would be permanent. If Erik did not remember his past ordeals and crimes, he could start a new life. If he did not remember his lost love and broken heart, he would not suffer quite as much. But what was a person without his past? Without the knowledge of all the experiences and events that had shaped his personality? No, Nadir decided. He did not want that Erik would never remember. For the moment it was probably best if Erik did not remember too much, but Nadir hoped that his friend would eventually regain his memory.

"Nadir," he finally said. "My name is Nadir." Erik tried to nod, which made his head swim. Now that he heard the name he knew it belonged to the man sitting at his bedside. He still had no idea what his relationship with this man was.

"Do you remember anything, Erik?" Nadir asked, then paused before cautiously adding, "the Opera?"

"Opera?" Erik seemed at a loss. He had a vague idea what a opera was, but could not remember ever having been to one. "What about it?" Nadir sighed. By Allah, Erik did not remember either his role as the Opera Ghost or that young singer, and for the moment it was better, that he did not.

"That's where you got injured," Nadir explained. "There was a fire during the performance. You got hit by a wooden beam, which caused you a nasty head wound, a concussion, a broken arm and some cracked or broken ribs, but you are mending. Your current memory loss is probably a side effect of your concussion. I am sure that with time it will all come back to you." Nadir exhaled. It was so hard to decide what to tell Erik and what not. All he had said was technically true, though it was only half the truth. "At least Erik can't complain that I lied to him, once he remembers," he thought by himself.

"I will get you some chicken broth now," he finally said. "You should try to eat at least a few spoonfuls in order to regain your strength and then you should sleep. Relax, stop worrying. You will make a full recovery, and you will soon remember everything." He smiled reassuringly at his ill friend, then stood and went towards the door to get the soup.

"Nadir, wait," Erik's voice sounded weak and there was a troubled look in his visible left eye. "What is it?" Nadir asked. "Do you need something else that you want me to bring to you?"

Erik summoned all his strength and formulated an entire question. "My right eye," he murmured, "why can't I seem to open it?"

Nadir smiled at him. "Don't worry, Erik, there is nothing wrong with your eye, it's just swollen shut. Once that head injury of yours will heal, the swelling will go back and you will be able to use your eye again."

Erik mulled over the information he had just received, then asked, "so this injury is in my face? I will probably have an ugly scar?" Nadir's heartbeat almost stopped. Why would Erik care about an additional scar on his deformed face? Was it possible that… "The stitching will probably leave a scar on the right side of your face," he said cautiously, "going from your temple to your cheek."

Erik stared ahead, then finally said, "I guess I will have to get myself used to the idea of looking like a monster now." Nadir was at a loss what to say. Erik's words confirmed his previous suspicion – namely that Erik did not even remember that the right side of his face had always been deformed.


	3. Disillusioned

As "Hearts May Get Broken" is now finally almost done, it is time to continue with this story. Erik is alive, though not quite as well as we would like him to be. So let's now see how Christine is doing.

By the way I still don't own anything or anybody, just to make sure you still remember this important detail.

Chapter 2 – Disillusioned

The Vicomtesse Christine de Chagny sat at the breakfast table, alone. For the first time since her then-fiancé Raoul had brought her to his home after the fire at the Opera Populaire slightly over a month ago, she had to eat breakfast alone. Her husband of three weeks had an important business meeting and had had to get up and get ready for this appointment, when she had still been asleep.

Christine was a bit disappointed that he left her alone so soon after their wedding, but she somehow understood that he had obligations that he had neglected for far too long. First the preparations for their wedding had taken up all their time, since because of the special circumstances it had to be rushed. Her home at the Opera had been destroyed by the fire and Christine had not had anywhere else where she could have stayed except the de Chagny mansion. Of course this had not been entirely appropriate as long as they were not married, especially without a chaperone. But Raoul's parents had been on vacation at the Côte d'Azur, so his mother had not been able to provide the necessary protection.

Raoul and Christine had gotten married two weeks after the fire, then Raoul had taken his young wife on a honeymoon to Venice. He had spoiled her rotten on the whole trip, had bought her dozens of new dresses, shoes, jewelry, taken her to the most exquisite restaurants, on romantic gondola rides and shown her all the wonders of the city built into the lagoon.

Christine had been overwhelmed by all these new impressions. She had seen so many works of art and beautiful buildings, she had experienced a lifestyle so completely different from what she had been used to before, that it had been hard for her to keep track of all the amazing things that seemed like miracles to her. She had not had time to think.

Raoul had been the perfect gentleman, showing her around, granting her every wish. It had been like a fairy tale. But two days ago they had returned to Paris, and now that their bags had been unpacked and they had rested a bit, Raoul had to take care of his business obligations again.

"Sleep in, Little Lotte," her husband had told her the night before. "There is no need for you to get up as early as I have to. Take a late breakfast and then relax some more. You must be exhausted after all the sightseeing we have done recently," and he had kissed her.

Christine sighed. She was not quite sure what she should do with her time. Raoul would not be back before dinner, which meant she had to find something to do that would keep her occupied the whole day. She was not used to sitting around idly. At the Opera she had always been on a rather tight schedule, going from rehearsals to costume fittings, to daily ballet exercises, and she had had to keep her wardrobe in order herself, by mending or doing laundry. Here she had no duties. Raoul's mother was still in charge of the household, and though Raoul's parents had left Paris immediately after the wedding again, Christine was sure that the Comtesse would not appreciate it if she tried to take care of the household during her absence. The servants had orders to do things a certain way and would only get confused if Christine tried to introduce a few changes during her mother-in-law's absence.

What else could a noblewoman do? She could receive visitors or make visits herself. The problem with that was that Christine knew nobody in Paris that she could visit, with the possible exception of the Girys, and Raoul had already indicated to her that she now belonged to a different social circle and therefore should limit her contact to these two ladies. Meg and her mother had of course been invited to the wedding, but they had been seated as far away from the couple and the groom's noble friends and relatives as possible, somewhere between the manger of Raoul's estate in Brittany, the tenant of a farm near Auxerre and the spinster sister of the priest who had married Raoul and Christine.

Christine had been hurt by seeing the Girys treated so poorly. After all, Meg was like a sister to her, and even though the former ballet mistress could be rather strict and stiff, she was the closest thing to a mother Christine had ever had, since her own mother had died at Christine's birth. She knew that the two ladies had felt unwanted at the wedding, and when she had found a few moments to talk to them, Mme. Giry had told her that they understood. They knew that Christine would want to stay in contact with them as much as possible, and that it was not her fault that she could not. That they were not going to blame her for the estrangement that would have to set in between them, since there was no place for them in the life of a Vicomtesse.

Christine had told them that she would try her best to keep up the good relationship with her two friends, but they had known all three that her position in society was precarious enough after the events at the Opera, that she could not afford to blatantly ignore society rules, at least not right now.

Visiting the Girys was therefore out of the question. What else would be an appropriate pass-time for somebody in her position? She could go shopping. Christine shook her head. No, that was not such a good idea either. First, she already had more dresses and accessories than she needed thanks to Raoul's generosity, and second, she was not quite sure yet, which dressmakers' shops were acceptable for her to buy from.

Of course she could take a walk in the garden. Christine looked out of the window. It was only late March and still rather chilly outside, but the grass was starting to push and the first early spring flowers were blooming. Yes, she would definitely go out for a while and have a look at nature's wonders.

Xxxx

Christine walked across the garden till she got cold, then spent some time in the library reading till it was time for lunch. The morning had turned out nice after all, but now Christine was once again at a loss of what she could do in the afternoon. Take a nap as many noble women did? No, Christine was not tired yet. Life in the ballet had turned her into a strong and resilient young woman.

What else could she do? Read again? Christine liked reading, but somehow reading all day seemed a bit boring to her. Another acceptable occupation was needlework, but while Christine could definitely sew and mend clothes, she never had learned to do delicate embroidery or to crochet laces.

Christine reached for the newspaper that had been delivered to the mansion together with the mail. Maybe browsing through it would give her an idea or two what she could do. She unfolded the paper and stared at the headline: "Opera Populaire to be rebuilt – Funding secured"

Her old home! The Opera would be restored to its previous glory! Maybe she would soon be able to go there again with Raoul, to enjoy music again! Music. Christine closed her eyes. Why hadn't she thought of music before? Music had always been so important in her life, after all, her father had been a musician, a rather well-known violinist, and her angel… her heart ached. They were both dead npw, her father and her angel. Dead and gone. Thinking of her angel made her feel bad. She could not quite convince herself that his death was not her fault, for she had betrayed him and broken his heart.

She had not even thought about music since that night which had decided her fate. She had had Raoul beside her every day and not missed a thing. Suddenly music seemed like the most important element in her life again. It would bring back memories of her father and her angel, would somehow make them live on in that passion they had shared with her, music.

Christine smiled. There was a wonderful grand piano in the parlor downstairs, and hopefully she would be able to locate some sheet music as well, preferably songs, since she was not that great of a pianist, but she suddenly longed to sing again.

"I am probably terribly out of practice," she thought, "I will have to work hard to get my voice back into shape." And she chuckled at the thought what her angel would say if he knew that she had neglected her art for so long. "He would not be pleased," she mused. "But I will start my exercises right away and I won't stop until I know that he would be proud of me."

After lunch, Christine immediately went in search of sheet music. In addition to several albums of sonatas and other pieces for piano, she found a rather large collection of songs and arias from various operas. Christine smiled. She suddenly remembered that at their wedding reception Raoul's second cousin Laurence had performed a love song in their honor – rather poorly, truth be told. But singing at important events was quite obviously acceptable for the member of an aristocratic family. If Laurence had been allowed to do so, certainly they would not deny her.

Christine suddenly did not feel bored anymore. She had a purpose. She needed to get back in shape, to practice. She quickly sat down in front of the piano and started her warm-up exercises. Her voice had really gotten rusty. At first she did not quite reach the high notes that previously had been no problem for her, but after a while she remembered her routine and these notes once again came to her naturally.

When she felt sufficiently prepared, Christine started to browse through the sheet music to decide which songs she wanted to either repeat or, in case she had not sung them before, to study. She soon had selected a handful of pieces that appealed to her for one reason or another and set out to work on them. Time flew by. Christine did not notice that it was slowly getting dark and that at one point a maid had slipped in and turned on the gas lights. She was completely immersed in her music and forgot everything else around her.

Xxxx

Slightly after six o'clock Raoul de Chagny returned home after an exhausting series of business conferences and a meeting with the committee that was put in charge of rebuilding the Opera Populaire. He felt rather tired and was looking forward to a quiet evening with his beautiful wife.

The moment his servant opened the door of his carriage so that the Vicomte could get out, Raoul stiffened. The wind carried sounds of a piano and a pure, angelic soprano voice from the direction of the parlor. The music was somewhat muted since the windows were closed, but it was unmistakably his wife singing.

Raoul winced. He had tried so hard to make Christine forget about music, forget about her ignominious past and that – thing – that had almost succeeded in luring her away from him. He had avoided taking her to concerts or a performance at the famous La Fenice opera during their stay in Venice, and she had not seemed to miss music. He had hoped that she would be glad to be rid of the necessity to earn her own living and that her past would be nothing more than a memory. A rather unpleasant one, at that, since her past had been miserable.

Why would anybody in their right mind want to do something for pleasure that one had had to do previously in order to make enough money to survive? Raoul had expected Christine to be overjoyed that she would never have anything to do with rehearsals, music or theater again, and here she was playing the piano and singing, the first moment he left her alone!

Raoul stormed into the house and right into the parlor.

"Ah! S'il était içi, s'il me voyait ainsi.." (Ah if he were here, if he could see me like that) Christine sang Marguerite's jewel song from Gounod's "Faust". She had been practicing all afternoon, but her voice did not sound tired. She was just now becoming comfortable with the high notes again, and her joy at having mastered the difficulties and being able to sing freely again reverberated through her voice.

"What do you think you are doing?" Her husband's harsh words brought her singing to an abrupt halt.

"Raoul!" Christine turned and smiled at the Vicomte. "Are you finally back? How were your meetings? Are you tired?" Despite being slightly miffed at his unfriendly welcome, Christine tried her best to make Raoul relax. He was quite obviously exhausted after a long working day and maybe he needed quiet, not music.

"I am sorry," she continued. "I realize that you might want to rest and music will keep you from that…"

Raoul shook his head. Christine's concern for his wellbeing had somewhat calmed him. "No, Little Lotte," he said, "it's not that. Or at least that's not all this is about. I need to ask you never to do this again."

Christine stared at him in disbelief. He could not possibly have meant his words the way she had understood them. "Do what again?" she asked hesitantly.

Raoul pointed at the piano. "This," he said. "Music, singing. You do not need that anymore. You are not a theater girl anymore, but a Vicomtesse. The sooner you forget about the past, the better." He prayed inwardly that she would forget all of her past soon, especially that monster. It was a good thing he was dead and would never be able to affect her in any way, shape or form, but Raoul was not entirely certain about the place his former rival still held in his wife's heart.

Christine looked at Raoul, scrutinizing his face for signs that he might be joking. "But Raoul, my past is who I am," she tried to explain. "It shaped me and helped me become the person that I am now. How can I forget it?"

Raoul sighed. She obviously did not want to understand. "It is not appropriate for a Vicomtesse to work on a stage," he uttered. "You will never be accepted in society if you keep reminding people of what you once were. Stay away from music, don't show any interest in it ever again, that will be the best way to make people forget."

Christine suddenly felt cold. Staying away from music? That was almost like asking her to stop breathing. Music was part of her very essence, she was not even sure if without music she would be able to survive.

"But music is not inappropriate for a noblewoman," she argued. "Your cousin Laurence, she sang that beautiful song at our wedding and nobody had a problem with it."

Raoul massaged his temples. Her stubbornness gave him a headache. "How can you be so obtuse," he growled. "That is something completely different. Laurence sings for pleasure, not for money. She is an amateur. Never in her life has she stood on a stage, her belly bare or showing off her legs, moving seductively and entrancing an audience. All she ever did was stand next to a piano wearing a decent evening dress, singing a song. And none of her songs have ever been provocative."

Christine shivered at her husband's words. Yes, she knew that some of the costumes she had been wearing on stage had not met the nobility's standards of propriety, but she had always felt sufficiently covered. Raoul made it almost sound as if she had stood in front of an audience completely naked. As to provocative songs and seductive movements, surely he must be aware that this had been acting? That when she did those things it had not been her, Christine, behaving that way but the character she had been playing at that point?

"I can do that as well," she pleaded. "I can stand next to a piano and wear a nice dress while singing. I do not have to move around and gesticulate, and we can choose my songs together, to make sure they are tasteful."

Raoul shook his head. "No, Christine," he told her. "You cannot. When Laurence sings at a soirée people see a member of a noble family that has some interest in music, an amateur. But if you do that, people will see the woman that let herself get seduced by Don Juan in front of a full house, singing about highly vulgar and inappropriate things."

Christine was confused. Had it not been Raoul who had practically forced her against her will to perform in that opera? Why did he suddenly have such problems with it? And second, why did he call certain activities that he enjoyed a whole lot more than she did vulgar?

"Do you hold it against me that I played Aminta that night?" she asked, her voice sounding bitter. Raoul could not look her in the eyes. While it was true that he had more or less ordered her to play that particular role, he had not foreseen his rival to play Don Juan and even less so her reaction to the Ghost's advances. Memories of that performance, of his Christine lying in that criminal's arms, would haunt him for the rest of his life. And then those kisses in the Phantom's lair! If he was honest, it was not so much music he had a problem with, but rather anything that reminded him of Christine's relationship with that – thing. Unfortunately, music, and especially singing fell into that category.

Christine looked so miserable now, though, that he pitied her. "No, my darling wife," Raoul quickly said. "I know this was necessary and you only did it for the greater good, but others may see things differently, and it is because of these people that I ask you to stay away from music from now on."

Christine nodded. She thought she understood. Kind of. "I will try my best not to disappoint you," she whispered, trying to imagine life without music. She barely managed to suppress tears, feeling more alone than ever before in her life.

"That's my girl," Raoul beamed. "Now let's get changed and have dinner together and then we can retire for the night…" he said suggestively, lowering his glance to his wife's heaving bosom.


	4. Shock

Welcome back, everybody. I see from reviews and alerts that many of you have already found the way to this new story, which hopefully will be just as successful as the previous ones. I will certainly try to make it as interesting as my other stories.

Just to remind you, I don't own anything or anybody… sigh!

Chapter 3 – Shock

Erik was sitting up in his bed, leaning on several pillows that Nadir had stuck behind his back, and thinking. Ten days had passed since he had woken up in this room and he knew that his body was healing. He felt a bit stronger every day, he was not in too much pain anymore, he could even open his right eye again. It was obvious that sooner or later he would be well again, except…

Except for his memories. Erik still had absolutely no idea about his past and his life before the accident. He seemed to have retained all his other mental capabilities, he could read and write, understood the meaning of words without having to be told, but he could not remember anything. At first he had not even known his own name or that of Nadir, who obviously was a friend of his. At his request Nadir had told him that his full name was Erik Lavoisier, that he was thirty-five years old and had no living relatives. He supposedly was from a small town near Rouen by the name of Boscherville. His father had died before he was even born, his mother a few years ago.

Erik had absorbed all that information, but it had not really helped. While he now knew that his home town was called Boscherville, he had no memory of growing up there, what the town or his parents' house looked like, or what his parents' first names had been. Whenever he was awake he was racking his brain, trying hard to remember something – anything. Sometimes he had a feeling as if some important memory were lurking at the bottom of his conscious mind and that he would be able to dig it up if only he concentrated hard enough. So far he had not been successful, though, the only result of his brooding being a splitting headache.

"Are you once again trying to remember, Erik?" Nadir sounded worried. "That won't do you any good. It will only weaken you and slow down your recovery. Try to relax. When you expect it least, your memories will surface again, one after the other."

Erik sighed, frustrated. "That's easier said than done," he complained. "Can you imagine, what it is like to feel as if your life started only a few days ago? When you do not remember anything you ever did, anybody you ever met, any place you've ever been to? But there is this nagging feeling that you would remember it all, if only you concentrated hard enough on lifting the veil in your subconscious mind that is hiding those memories from you?"

Nadir had to admit that he had not the slightest idea of what Erik was going through. He was convinced, though, that Erik's best chance at regaining his memories was to relax. By dwelling too much on the problem, Erik only exhausted himself. Nadir understood, though, that Erik was impatient. He wanted his memories now. He did not feel comfortable without them and therefore did not want to wait until one day something might trigger a memory and let him remember his past.

Nadir had cautiously provided Erik with some information on their shared past, had told him what little he himself knew about Erik's family, had mentioned that Erik had travelled around for a while and that they had first met in his own home country of Persia. Erik had memorized it all, but nothing Nadir had told him had seemed even vaguely familiar to him. He did remember the Persian language, though, and had been able to talk to Nadir in Persian.

Nadir was concerned. The longer this condition lasted, the more likely it seemed to him that Erik might never remember. There were some things, though, that his friend needed to know, and soon. One of them was the fact that Erik's face was disfigured, had always been that way, even before his recent head injury. Right now, Erik's head was still bandaged, but the wound was healing nicely and the bandages would have to come off soon. Nadir knew that he should tell Erik the truth about his face before then, yet he was somewhat reluctant to do so. He had witnessed with his own eyes how Erik had been abused and mistreated because of his face, he knew how badly Erik's self-esteem was affected by this birth defect, how much his friend loathed himself and his disfigured face. At the moment, Erik was not burdened by the knowledge of his grotesque features. For the first time in his life Erik thought of himself as of a normal person. How could he possibly remind his friend of this birth defect, which had overshadowed all of Erik's life so far? How could he throw Erik back into the deep despair of seeing himself as something less than human?

If Nadir was hesitant to tell Erik about his deformity he downright feared the moment when he would have to remind his patient of the fact that he was a wanted criminal and presumed dead. How did you tell a convalescent person such a thing? Yet it was important for Erik to know that he would not be able to leave the apartment at will once he would be strong enough to do so. For his own safety it was imperative to make sure Erik understood he could not roam the streets freely and would have to live more or less like a prisoner.

"If only I could spare him this," Nadir thought. "If only I could help him have as normal a life as is possible with his handicap. I do not want to remind him of crimes of which he has no recollection. I do not want to burden his conscience with atrocities he has committed but cannot remember. But how else can I make him understand that he has to lie low and go into hiding for the foreseeable future?" He shook his head in frustration and decided to cross that bridge when they'd reach it. The more urgent problem was to tell Erik about his face. The bandages on Erik's head were not really necessary any longer and would have to come off the next day at the latest. Then Erik would know…

Xxxxx

Nadir spent another hour or so summoning all his courage and trying to think of how best to choose his words when telling Erik about the curse he had been carrying with him since the day he was born. Nadir knew that he could not put off that particular revelation any longer. Determined to get it over and done with, he entered the guest room, as if to check if his friend needed something.

Nadir's agitated state of mind was so unusual for him that Erik immediately noticed that something was not quite right. He looked at the older man inquisitively. "Why are you so nervous, Nadir?" he asked, "is something troubling you?"

Nadir shook his head and tried to appear calm, though with very little success. "I just thought I might have a look at your head injury again," he muttered.

Erik looked up. "Why?" he asked sharply. "I thought you said the wound was healing nicely?"

Nadir nodded. "Yes, of course, it is indeed. Allah is my witness," he stammered. "In fact, in my opinion you do not need the bandages anymore,…."

Erik's eyes burned into Nadir's. "That would be good news," he said slowly, "if I did not hear a 'but' coming." When Nadir did not answer at once, Erik began to worry. "The scar," he whispered, "it's really bad, is it not? You are afraid how I will react to my own ugliness."

Nadir coughed nervously. "Yes,….no…" he fidgeted, desperately trying to make up his mind how to tell Erik the truth. "It's not the scar," he finally mumbled. "The scar is not too bad," he continued hesitantly. "At least not compared to…" Nadir bit his lip. There was no easy way to make Erik understand his predicament. He could not really prepare his friend for the shock that was awaiting him.

Erik was getting impatient. "Spit it out, Nadir," he hissed. "There is obviously something you are trying to tell me. Something I may have known once but do not remember." Erik closed his eyes in frustration. He knew so little about himself and the life he had lead before the accident. Would he never remember? Would he have to live the rest of his life without ever knowing what he had forgotten?

"Yes." Nadir inhaled deeply. "You are right," he confirmed, "there is something you need to know that right now you do not remember. The fresh scar in your face is not exactly a beauty," Nadir continued, hesitating again.

Erik groaned. "I feared that much," he said. "How bad is it? Will little children run off screaming in horror if they see me?"

Nadir looked directly into Erik's eyes. "The scar is ugly," he confirmed, "but even without it…. Your face…" he paused again.

"Even without it…" Erik repeated slowly, trying to make sense of what he had just heard. "My face," he mumbled, when realization hit him. "There is something wrong with my face?"

Nadir nodded, his hand reaching for that of his young friend. "Erik, please," he pleaded, "try to remain calm. I know this will come to you as a bit of a shock, but keep in mind that this is nobody's fault and that there is nothing you can do about it."

"My face," Erik shouted. "What is wrong with my face and why are you so reluctant to tell me?"

Nadir hesitated for another few seconds before finally uttering the words that would throw his friend into black despair and self-loathing again. "A birth defect," he explained. "The right side of your face is badly disfigured."

Erik suddenly seemed as white as the wall. "Disfigured?" he repeated. "A freak of nature? A monster? Is that what I am? A face that frightens people away, fills them with disgust, makes it impossible for me to interact with others? Is that what you are trying to tell me?"

Nadir squeezed Erik's hand. "Your face does not define you as a person," he tried to comfort the younger man. "I will not deny that your appearance has caused you problems in the past, and I would lie if I told you that it will not affect everybody that you come in contact with, but Erik, you have a lot to offer. Those who shun you because of your face do not know what they are missing out on. You are intelligent, creative, highly talented in many ways, and a reliable, trustworthy friend."

Erik groaned. "God, it must be terrible," he sighed, "since you are trying so hard to convince me otherwise." He suddenly sat up straight. "That's why…" he whispered. "I have been wondering why nobody came by to check on me, nobody asked about my health. That's why, isn't it?"A bitter, mirthless laugh escaped his lips. "Nobody cares for the freak. The monster has no friends. I bet there are a lot of people out there in this big city that would have preferred if I had died in that fire."

Nadir's heart went out to his young friend. Erik had not even seen the mangled flesh of his face yet, and he was already assaulted by despair, hopelessness and self-loathing. How would he react once he'd seen the full extent of his disfigurement? And, even worse, what would he do if he knew just how many people would rather see him dead than alive, and why they felt that way?

"Erik, don't do that to you," Nadir tried to soothe his friend. "You are no monster. You are a human being with the same rights as everybody else, and you have certainly always been a good friend to me."

Erik swallowed hard. "The truth, Nadir," he begged. "Tell me the truth. There is nobody else out there who would care about me, or is there? You and that servant of yours is all the support I have. That's why you did not call a doctor. My face might have scared him away!"

Nadir bit his lip. The scenario Erik had evoked was bad enough, but the truth was even worse. At least Erik still ignored the murders he had committed. "You are close to the truth," Nadir finally admitted.

"No friends," Erik murmured. Having no relatives was sad, but no friends either? Was he condemned to loneliness? Realization sank in that if he did not even have friends, there would be absolutely no chance at ever finding love. For a fleeting moment he felt as if he almost remembered something, a distant memory of a discreet perfume, the sound of a young woman's laughter briefly passed through his mind and made his heart ache with longing, then it was gone.

Nadir looked down. "I am afraid so," he whispered. He did not feel entirely comfortable at these words, though. For the first time since his friend's injury he was not entirely truthful with Erik. There was this woman, the former ballet mistress, he had never met her in person, but from what Erik had told him about her, Nadir thought she must care about his disfigured friend as well. Not for the first time he asked himself if he had done the right thing by keeping the information from her that Erik was still alive and on the way to recovery. What if she was mourning Erik's death? What if it hurt her that she had lost her protégé? But she was so close to the young woman who had been Erik's undoing, the young soprano turned Vicomtesse. For Erik's safety it was probably better that Antoinette Giry thought him dead. That way, there was no risk that a slip of tongue on her part might alert the wrong people to the fact that the Opera Ghost was nowhere near as dead as rumor had him.

"I need to see for myself." Erik's voice interrupted Nadir's thoughts. "I need to know how bad it is. Remove the bandages and then hand me a mirror."

Nadir squirmed. Erik was way too agitated for his own good. He was still convalescing and needed rest. "Not right now," Nadir said. "Calm down first. I know this must have come to you as a bit of a shock, but…"

Erik grasped Nadir's hand and held it in a vise-like grip. "Now," he commanded. "You have already told me too much. I cannot relax now until I have seen my face, until I can fully understand the fate which awaits me thanks to this birth defect."

Nadir sighed. There was no use delaying the inevitable. Erik had to be made aware of the effect his face had on others, he needed to accept this and take it into consideration when he made plans for his future.

"By Allah, so be it," Nadir muttered resignedly, "but don't say that I did not warn you. It did not look too great before, now with the scar,…" He slowly began to remove Erik's bandages, careful not to hurt the patient. The wound had healed, but the scar was still an aggressive blood-red color. It would fade a bit over time, but remain visible for the rest of Erik's life.

Nadir looked at Erik's ugly face, trying hard not to flinch. "A mirror," Erik commanded. "Where is a mirror?" Nadir nervously produced a small pocket mirror and handed it to him.

Erik held the mirror in front of his face and froze. Whatever he had imagined, this was worse. The right side of his face, temple, cheek, half of his nose, looked just barely human. His flesh was mangled, there were bumps and wrinkles, his right eye was drooping, the skin was very thin in places, almost translucent, and one could see the veins through it. A long red scar passed right through all this ugliness, and on top of it all there barely was any hair on the right side of his face either.

"A monster," Erik gasped. "Ugly does not even begin to describe my face. It is loathsome, repulsive, disgusting. No gargoyle on a medieval cathedral could look more grotesque than I do." He raised his right hand to cover the deformed part of his face. "How can you bear looking at me?" he asked Nadir, his voice sounding tortured. "How can anybody? Not even I myself…" Erik's chest shook with heavy sobs.

Nadir took the mirror out of Erik's hand and put it aside. "I can understand that you are self-conscious about your face," he said calmly. "And I know how cruel people can be when confronted with something they do not understand. I am not trying to tell you that things are easy for you, for they are not. Never have been and probably won't be too easy from now on either, but…" he paused for emphasis. "There are ways to deal with this situation. For instance you can go out early in the morning or late at night, when the poor light won't allow others to see you too clearly. You can wear wide-brimmed hats that you pull into your face or a hood, or even a mask…"

Erik nodded. "I guess I can do that," he said resignedly. "But how can one live that way, what kind of profession…" He stopped, staring at Nadir. "How do I earn my living?" he rasped. "With a face like that, who would employ me? How have I been able to support myself so far?"

Nadir winced. He was not going to tell his friend that he had been harassing the managers of the Opera Populaire, extorting a salary from them. "You have been doing a lot of different things over the years," he said vaguely, thinking that travelling with a group of gypsies, building torture chambers, running an opera house by proxy and teaching a young girl how to sing definitely could be summed up as "a lot of different things".

Erik nodded. "Apparently I had to change jobs fairly often," he stated, before facing his friend again. "What about now? Am I employed somewhere?"

Nadir shook his head. "No," he said, before adding cautiously, "the Opera Populaire burned down. You are therefore out of a job like many others."


	5. Depression

Sorry, sorry, sorry for the late update! But this was an incredibly busy week and somehow I just didn't get anything done in time. :-(

I hope you will forgive me. Oh, and in case you are wondering: my Erik is usually rather tame, because I think after the kiss a lot would change for him, since he would finally understand kindness and love. But this Erik does not remember the kiss, so he has got more of a temper in this chapter.

And just in case you have forgotten: I don't own anything or anybody...

Chapter 4 – Depression

Erik groaned. "The Opera," he whispered. He closed his eyes while a shiver cursed through his body. It was as if an ice-cold hand were gripping for his heart, squeezing it, stopping it from beating. For a brief moment he once again felt as if he were that close to remembering something important, while a strong feeling of betrayal, loss and longing washed through him. Then it was gone and Erik once again shook his head in frustration. He knew he had been on to something major, that one of his buried memories had almost broken through the thick fog which clouded his mind.

Erik's uninjured left hand formed a fist and he hit the nightstand, hard. "Blasted memories," he screamed. "They keep eluding me. Will they never resurface? How can I function properly if I can't remember anything at all!"

Nadir tried to calm him, but Erik just yelled at him. "What do you know about my situation?" he howled. "As if this utterly repulsive face of mine were not bad enough, I do not even know who I am and where I come from. My amnesia has turned me into a laughing-stock, when I already had the face of a scarecrow."

Nadir winced. As much as he wanted to make Erik relax, he had to admit that his friend's concerns were not unfounded. If anybody got wind of the fearsome Opera Ghost's current condition, Erik would be ridiculed by all of Paris.

"Erik, stop this," Nadir pleaded with his friend. "You are agitated, this was too much for you. Try to relax. Once you have calmed down, you will be able to see things differently, not quite as gloomy."

Erik stared at the older man. "Leave me alone," he roared. "I can't face you, I can't stand having people stare at me, I don't need your pity, just leave me, go!"

Erik got more and more worked up about the situation he found himself in. He was not able to think rationally and just kept screaming and yelling. Nadir was getting really worried. He knew that Erik would not be able to relax until he was alone and had had time to get used to the problems caused by his unusual appearance, but Nadir did not dare leave Erik alone, for fear that the latter might do something drastic out of desperation.

"Promise me that you will try to relax," Nadir begged Erik, but the younger man just roared like a wounded animal and bellowed, "Go! Now!"

Nadir finally nodded at Erik, not daring to risk upsetting him even more by saying one more word and left the room. The moment he had closed the door behind him, Erik broke down completely. He fell back into his pillows, his body shaking convulsively.

"How can I go on living," he sobbed. "My face makes it impossible for me to live a normal life. Why, oh why did my mother not strangle me the moment I was born? How could she force a freak like me to live on? Did she not feel any pity with the miserable creature she had given birth to?"

Erik went from self-loathing to self-pity to anger at the rest of the world then back to self-loathing and despair. He cursed his mother for having let him live despite his serious handicap, complained to God for having him created the way he was, raged at the unfairness of his fate, that had just gotten immensely worse by being amnesiac on top of being disfigured.

Erik screamed and yelled and sobbed until his voice was hoarse and, too exhausted to continue his raging anymore, he fell into a fitful sleep.

Nadir had been standing just outside the door the whole time of Erik's outburst, praying to Allah to help his young friend and at the same time ready to act, should Erik hurt himself. When the screaming finally died down, Nadir cautiously opened the door and peeked in. He saw Erik turning and tossing on the bed, just as agitated in sleep as he had been while still awake.

"Allah," he mumbled, "he has been through so much already. Give him the strength to accept his fate and to make the best of his situation. He is so gifted, and despite all the atrocities he has committed he has a kind and compassionate heart. There must be a way for him to overcome his handicap, there must be a place in this world for him, some purpose for his existence. Please, let him find that purpose."

Xxxxx

Erik's anger was gone the next day, but his despair remained. He lay in his bed, facing the wall, and was completely unresponsive. He did not eat or drink for an entire day, and as a result he got weaker again. Nadir was worried. At first he had thought the best thing to do was leave Erik alone for a while, give him a chance to think his situation over and get accustomed to the idea that life might not be too easy for him, but when Erik remained apathetic and continued to refuse food, he knew that his friend needed help.

Nadir sat down at Erik's bedside and began to talk to him. "I know I can probably not even begin to imagine how you feel," he murmured, "but Erik, you must believe me, I do care for you. You need to eat and drink, you need to get strong again, so that you can master your destiny."

Erik inched a bit closer to the wall. "You should have let me die," he whimpered. "What was the point of treating my wounds and bringing me back to life, when I had this accident? It would have been so much more merciful to let me die! I would have been out of my misery then."

Nadir put his hand on Erik' shaking shoulder. "Erik, I could not have done that," he said soothingly. "I felt responsible for your survival. I could not let you die when there was a chance that you could make a full recovery. I know," he interrupted himself," I know about your amnesia. I did not foresee that, I have to admit. But there is a chance that it will not be permanent. And even though you cannot remember people or places or incidents, you remember everything you ever learned, like reading, writing, the Persian language. And there are times when you feel close to remembering something. I am confident that this will get better with time. There may be a few things that you will never remember, but it is more than likely that one by one, single memories will resurface. Once you are stronger. And more relaxed," he added, putting emphasis on his last words.

"How can I relax," Erik groaned, "knowing that I am an amnesiac monster that nobody will want to employ! Being disfigured is bad enough, but disfigured and amnesiac? I am destitute, Nadir, unable to earn my living!"

Nadir sighed. He knew only too well that there was absolutely no chance for Erik to find a job anywhere in Paris, or France for that matter. But considering how Erik had reacted to the revelation of his disfigurement, there was no way he could tell him of his criminal past. At least not anytime soon, unless he wanted to put Erik in a suicidal state of mind.

"Maybe," he thought aloud, "maybe you have to start a new life then."

Erik froze, then quietly asked. "A new life? What do you mean?"

Nadir smiled. He had just had an ingenious idea. "We could leave the city," he explained, "and go someplace new, where nobody knows you. There we start our own company, an architect's office."

Erik slowly turned around and faced his friend for the first time since he had found out about his face. "An architect's office?" he asked surprised, then nodded. The moment Nadir had mentioned architecture, all sorts of geometric figures and forms had assaulted his mind, and he had known beyond any doubt, that just like reading and writing, designing buildings was something he would always be able to do, even though he had forgotten everything else from his previous life.

"But how?" he asked. "No customer would want to have me design anything for them, once they've seen my face."

Nadir smiled. "That's where I come in," he explained. "You do the designing, I do the office work and meet with the prospective customers. They do not need to ever meet you in person, and since we go to a different place, nobody will recognize your name and therefore nobody will suspect that you look any different from other people. Once we've landed the first assignment your talent will be guarantee that we get more. You are a very good architect," he told Erik.

Erik nodded slowly. "That might work," he admitted. "But where do we go?" Nadir sighed with relief. Erik was finally getting out of his brooding. "I have been thinking about London," he suggested. "It's just across the Channel, and it's a nice, big city, where one can remain anonymous. If we got ourselves a little cottage at the outskirts of town, where we can live and you can work, and where you might be able to go for a ride in the early morning or late afternoon, and we rented a little one-room office in the city center, we should be fine."

Erik looked up surprised. "Ride?" he asked. "Can I ride? And will we have a horse?" Nadir laughed. "You don't want to leave César behind, now do you?" he retorted.

"César?" Erik looked dubious. He had a feeling as if the name should mean something to him, but he could not quite remember what. "Your stallion," Nadir explained. "Right now he is in a stable two blocks away from here, but I think we should take him with us."

Erik nodded. César. A stallion. His horse. Of course. Why hadn't he known about him before Nadir mentioned the animal? "I would love to take him with me," he finally said weakly.

Nadir grinned. "Good. That's settled then. I'll look into time tables and such and make travel arrangements for the three of us plus the horse. And you try to get better in the meantime."

Xxxx

Christine de Chagny walked through the beautiful garden that surrounded her husband's mansion. She was seriously bored. Raoul rarely had any time for her, he was constantly attending to various business matters, anything from managing his estate to meetings about the rebuilding of the Opera Populaire, and in the evening, they very often had to attend official functions or host boring dinners themselves. Christine hated these social events. It was one thing to go to an opening night reception once in a while and celebrate together with your colleagues, but the gatherings of the nobility were much more stiff and formal, and happened much more often. A party every now and then could be fun, even a formal one, but this was beyond tolerable. She had to get dressed up, wearing uncomfortable, slightly revealing dresses and pin up her unruly curls into what passed for an "acceptable" hairstyle, then once arrived at the location of the event, she had to stiffly greet the host and hostess, walk around stiffly, smile as if she were enjoying herself, and talk as little as possible. Raoul had made it clear that he would want society to forget as quickly as possible that his wife had been a performer. She therefore should avoid mentioning anything from her past, never give any opinion on music or art. But what else could she talk about if not her past and her art? She did not know the noble families about who the other ladies gossiped, she had not been to all the fancy places the other ladies had visited, she had no noble relatives she could mention in passing to impress the others. So all she could basically do at such functions was to smile and look lovely.

Christine sighed. Tonight would be another extremely boring evening. They were invited to a soirée at the Duc de Camourelle's palais. She knew that the Duc's daughter would be playing the piano and possibly singing as well and she once again felt frustrated. The young lady was only a mediocre piano player at best and her voice was even worse. Listening to her performance would be utter torture. Afterwards she would have to politely applaud, hiding her disappointment in the poor interpretation of the wonderful music the young duchess would have been butchering. To think that such dilettantish performances were allowed in society, and she could not sing at such an occasion!

Christine fought back tears. She had not sung one single note since the day Raoul had come home and surprised her practicing. She had kept her word so far, but every day it became harder to do so. Every day that passed she missed music more. Only now that it was absent from her life did she understand the true importance music had had for her.

Christine and Raoul had been married only for a few weeks, but she began already to fear that her marriage had been one big mistake. She did love Raoul, sure, but – was that enough? Raoul barely had any time for her between his business obligations and the social functions. All she saw of him most of the time was when they went to bed together and performed their marital duties. Christine had no objections to these activities, after all, she had known what would be expected of her once she was married, but she had to admit to herself that she had hoped for her marriage to be quite different. She had hoped for love and understanding and caring, for moral support from her husband. If at least he allowed her to sing at home. Christine sort of understood why she could not perform in public, but surely, she could do as she pleased in her own house?

Or if at least those marital activities were leading to the desired result. If at least she were becoming pregnant. Christine knew that Raoul was expecting her to bear him an heir fairly soon, and she, too, was hoping for a baby. Surely once she was a mother she would have something to do, she would have a highly gratifying task, she would have somebody she could love unconditionally and who would love her back, somebody to help her through the loneliness of her days. Maybe then she would not miss music that much any more.

Music! How wonderful it had always been to be on stage of the Opera Populaire, to have music surround her and tell a story for the audience. How easily music could convey every single emotion, every state of mind! She had enjoyed performing, even when she had only been one of many girls in the ballet and Carlotta's screeching voice had ruined many emotional moments of the plays they had been performing. But she had enjoyed it even more being able to bring those heroines to life herself, to become one with them and make the audience understand how they felt and why they acted the way they did. Her angel had taught her not only to produce the perfect notes, but also to make the audience relive the heroine's fate, to make them identify with her and feel with her.

Her angel. Christine's heart ached. At one time he had meant so much to her. He had been the only one who seemed to understand her, when her father had died and she had felt so alone. He had comforted her then and helped her deal with her loss. His singing had calmed her and soothed her during the darkest period of her life, and later, he had started to teach her, to groom her voice to become equal to his own. Oh how wonderful it had been when they had sung together!

She blushed inwardly. She had not known the truth about him then, had him believed to be a true supernatural being sent to her by her father. She had been so naïve! And yet... deep down she had dreamed he was a real human being, somebody who cared about her and about whom she could care. At some subconscious level she probably had been in love with him then. But that had been before... she shuddered. Before she had discovered that he was not only a disfigured man with quite a violent temper, but also the Opera Ghost, who kept harassing the managers, and then he had done such an evil thing and killed Buquet!

Christine shook her head. She still could not understand why he had done that. To her he had always been kind and loving, and while his antics as the Ghost had certainly been anything but benevolent, at least his pranks had been more or less harmless. Nobody had ever got seriously hurt in all the years she had been at the Opera Populaire and known her angel. Not even Carlotta, when the piece of scenery dropped on top of her during the rehearsal for "Hannibal". Nobody, not in ten years, and then he suddenly went and killed someone? It did not quite fit. For the first time since that terrible evening Christine wondered what her angel's motive had been in killing that man. What had made him turn into a monster that night? Or... had she misjudged him? Had it been an accident of some kind? Had Buquet committed suicide after all? Had her angel acted in self-defense?

"I never asked him," she suddenly realized. "I never gave him a chance to justify himself, to explain what happened. What if he was not as guilty as I thought? What if I condemned him when he had only protected himself?"

The young Vicomtesse fought back tears again. She had a feeling as if she had destroyed something wonderful and important, as if she had thrown away a chance. She was not quite sure why it suddenly hurt so much to think that maybe she had been unfair towards her teacher, had judged him without knowing every detail. But she knew that she would never forgive herself for losing trust in him so quickly that night. "And now it is too late," she wailed. "Now I can never ask his forgiveness, now he is dead, and it is all my fault."


	6. New Life

Sorry, sorry, sorry again. Busy, overworked… I know that's a poor excuse, but it's the truth nevertheless. Next week will probably not be any better, and on top of it all, I will need to get a dentist's appointment. (yikes!)

Anyway, thank you all for reading and reviewing! It always brightens my day when I see a little note from in my inbox telling me that somebody has added one of my stories to their favorites, put it on alert, reviewed it etc.

Anyway, on to the next chapter, and let's see how the two of them are doing… I still don't own yada, yada, you know the routine by now.

Chapter 5 – New Life

Three weeks later, Nadir, Erik, Darius and César left Paris for London. Erik was fully recovered by then, but Nadir had once again bandaged his head and asked him to wear his arm in a sling for the time of their travel. That way, he would avoid questions about his face, Nadir had advised. They would simply say he had been in an accident, which was kind of true, and was still recovering. Of course, the main reason why Nadir had suggested this disguise, was for Erik's safety. Although chances that anybody, on the train, the boat or at immigration would be looking out for him were rather slim, since the Opera Ghost was supposed to be dead and several weeks had passed since the events at the Opera, by covering up Erik's disfigurement Nadir felt even more confident that his friend would not be recognized as the notorious Phantom. Erik had been only too willing to comply, glad that he could hide his "monster's face" as he still referred to his visage. He was totally oblivious to the real reason for this subterfuge.

To Nadir's immense relief, their journey was uneventful. Nobody questioned them about Erik's bandages, since Erik's naturally pale complexion made it very plausible that he was still convalescent. After a short train ride to Calais they took the ferry over to Dover and continued to London by train. Once there, they went to a small hotel for the first few nights, until Nadir had found them a pretty cottage at the outskirts of the city, with a small garden and even a small stable for César.

While they were settling into their new house, Erik began working on designs for buildings. Since his broken arm had healed completely, he was finally able to use both his hands again, managing a ruler and a pencil at the same time. He was amazed how many ideas he had, once he sat down in front of a blank piece of paper. While he could not remember having ever designed a building, he knew that he had always been good at it.

Nadir was looking for a small office in the meantime. Soon he found something suitable right in the center of the town. He took Erik's finished designs there and put up a huge sign informing passers-by that the new architect's and designer's company "Lavoisier & Khan" was now taking on assignments.

Only a week after Nadir had opened up the office, an eccentric Lord, who had been to his bank a few blocks down the road, stopped in front of the sign and frowned. "A new architect's office here in the city?" he murmured. "I wonder if they are any good? The usual suspects are so unimaginative, they design one house like the other. I want my new town house to be special, money does not matter. I wonder if I should give these new gentlemen a try? After all, Lavoisier is a French name, and the French are known for their taste and their sense of chic."

After thinking it over for a few more minutes, he entered the office. After all, it could not hurt to check out this new company. To his surprise he was greeted by an elderly, olive-skinned man, who looked more oriental to him than French. "Am I speaking to Mr. Lavoisier?" he curtly addressed Nadir.

"Oh no, no, Mylord, of course not," Nadir replied. "I am Nadir Khan. I am in charge of the business aspect of the company. M. Lavoisier is the architect, the genius, who is designing magnificent buildings. If you would have a look at these sketches..." He offered the Lord a seat and produced a folder with some of Erik's most spectacular drawings.

The Lord sat down and gazed somewhat condescendingly at the folder Nadir had handed to him. Then he gasped. His eyes turned round and wide, as he inspected one of the sketches after the other. This Mr. Lavoisier was definitely different from the other architects he knew. These designs were inspired, each of them unique. It seemed as if he had finally found the right man to come up with a sketch for his new town house.

"Splendid," he stated. "French chic, that's exactly what I was looking for. Would your company be able to provide a design for a town house?"

Nadir almost sighed with relief. Their first customer! "Certainly," he assured the Lord. "M. Lavoisier would be happy to come up with something really special for you," then he asked about specifics, noting down everything so that he could give Erik all the necessary information. Twenty minutes later he had a long list of details that the Lord wanted to see implemented in his house, anything from number of rooms, bathrooms, size of the kitchen, to number of servants that would live there, ball room, parlor, etc.

"When will the designs be ready?" the Lord asked finally. "Can I have them in ten days?" Nadir nodded. He knew how long it took Erik to design one building and to do all the necessary calculations. One week would probably have been enough time to get everything ready for the Lord, but ten days would definitely allow Erik to solve every single problem that might arise while working on this particular house.

"In that case, I will be back on Wednesday next week," the Lord announced, "to check on your progress. If the design is as unusual and magnificent as the ones you have shown me, I will pay you ..." He paused, remembering the sum Bilby & Wilkerson usually asked for their boring, run-of-the-mill designs, then offered a twenty percent higher amount.

Nadir smiled. He had investigated the fees other architects were asking and he knew that this was a really good offer. If they managed to satisfy this first customer, they would be able to live quite comfortably with the income from this business. "I am sure, your Lordship will be pleased with M. Lavoisier's design," he assured the Lord.

"I hope so," the nobleman said brusquely. "Will I be meeting this Mr. Lavoisier when I come back next time?"

Nadir swallowed hard. "I am afraid not," he then said. "M. Lavoisier is a very private, reclusive person. He is a genius, no doubt about that, but he is also rather shy and does not normally leave the house. He prefers his drawing board to human company."

The Lord raised an eyebrow. "He is quite eccentric, isn't he?" he huffed. "Well, as long as he delivers the design according to the specifications I gave you, I do not care."

Xxxx

When Nadir came home that afternoon and told Erik about their first customer, Erik was just as excited as his friend. He immediately sat down I front of his desk and started working on their first assignment.

Nadir smiled contentedly. Moving to London had been the best idea he had had in ages. Here Erik was safe and he even could live kind of a normal life. He had a job that he was good at and which would provide them with a regular income, he lived in a house like everybody else, not in an underground cavern, and he even got a bit of sunshine every now and then, even though he took his rides on César in the very early morning hours when hardly anybody else was awake in the neighborhood, or late in the evening, around sundown. Erik preferred not to be seen, instinctively fearing that people might be wary of his face, although he had no recollection of the abuse he had suffered because of it in his life before the accident.

Nadir watched his friend, who was concentrating hard on his work. Erik was not wearing a mask now, for the simple reason that he had left his mask behind at the opera, when he had fled from the mob. Because of his amnesia he did not remember ever having worn one, and Nadir had decided that it would do Erik a lot of good and boost his self-confidence if he went without it at home. So he had not told Erik about the mask and once Erik had accepted that Nadir and Darius did not care what he looked like he had had no problems showing them his face. He was still reluctant having anybody else see him though. But since Nadir ad Darius handled all their contact with the outside world, things like shopping and deliveries, there was no need for Erik to interact with anybody else, and on his rides Erik usually was wearing a wide-brimmed hat that shadowed his face and he stayed as far away as possible from roads and buildings, even though he normally was on the way at times when the rest of their little community was either still asleep or preparing for bed.

Nadir had explained to their neighbors that his friend was an artist, a genius, and needed solitude for inspiration. He also implied that the latter had been through a somewhat heart-breaking affair and as a consequence had become very reclusive. "It's hard for him to trust anybody again," he had informed them. "He has become even more reclusive."

The neighbors had nodded. They understood that artists were sometimes a bit eccentric, and if the young man had been through a lot emotionally, it was only natural that he would shut himself up in his home and concentrate on his work.

Xxxx

Ten days later the Lord returned to Nadir's little office in the city and the latter showed him the completed sketches for his new house. The Lord stared at the drawings in wonder. They exceeded all his expectations.

"C'est magnifique!" he said in French. "I have never seen anything like this. How come I have never heard of this Mr. Lavoisier before? He is a genius, he should be famous!"

Nadir sighed. He was not quite sure what to say, then he remembered that the romantic angle had worked well with the neighbors. "M. Lavoisier is French by birth," he began, "so naturally he has not worked here in England before. In fact he has not worked in quite a while," he continued. "A lady, you know…" his voice trailed. "Most unfortunate, broke his heart. And immediately afterwards he had an accident, broke his arm, could not work for several weeks."

The Lord seemed to understand. "Ah yeah," he grunted, "L'amour! Can't blame him if this threw him a bit off-course. Anyway, a sensible decision to come here. We Brits value privacy. Nobody will ask him awkward questions. He will be left alone here and be able to forget that… lady." Nadir had the distinct impression that the Lord had meant to say something else entirely, probably derogatory, but had stopped himself at the last moment. "Probably wasn't worth his time anyway," the Lord continued. "How stupid must she have been to turn down a genius like him?"

Nadir sighed. He had never met Christine Daaé, the woman who had broken Erik's heart and who Erik could now not remember anymore, but he had a feeling he knew why she had turned away from his friend. "I wonder what her reaction would be if she met him now," he thought. "Even though Erik still has got a temper, he lives a normal life now, and I do not think that he will ever resort to killing and other criminal activities again." And for the first time ever he considered the possibility that the young singer might have been able to love Erik despite his disfigurement, if only he had stayed away from violence. "It does not matter anymore, though," Nadir thought. "It is too late now. She is married to somebody else and Erik…. He might not even recognize her anymore if he met her in the streets."

Xxxx

The Lord was so happy with the drawings for his town house, that he recommended the new company Lavoisier & Khan to all his friends and acquaintances and soon many members of the British society sought out the little office, browsed through Erik's designs and Erik was flooded with assignments. He was glad about the heavy influx of work, since his work helped him to forget about his biggest problem: that he still could not remember one thing from his life before the accident.

There were moments when he had a feeling as if he were really close, as if a memory was about to break through, but it never did. Sounds, smells, feelings assaulted him from time to time and deep-down he knew that they should mean something to him, but he could never ever remember why they had been important to him in his life before the accident. There were days when he was frustrated with his condition and depressed, but Nadir always was there for him to comfort him.

"I wish he could remember," Nadir often thought, "since it's bothering him so much that he cannot, but on the other hand, he finally has the life he deserves, that he has never had before and the memories of his past would be a burden to him."

Xxxx

Half a year had passed since the fire at the Opera Populaire and preliminary work on the rebuilding of the magnificent theater had already started. Firmin and André had contacted all their former cast members and other personnel, asking them if they would be willing to return once the opera would be ready for reopening. All but one. To their great chagrin, their patron, the Vicomte de Chagny, had informed them, that the prima donna, who was now his wife, would "of course" not be available anymore. They would therefore have to find a new lead soprano.

Even though the two managers had not been entirely convinced that the Vicomte had conveyed his wife's opinion on that matter, they had known better than to anger the influential patron by directly approaching the Vicomtesse.

Christine de Chagny was depressed. She had heard through the grape-vine that all her former colleagues would be returning to the Opera soon and was only too aware of the fact that she alone had not been contacted by Firmin and André. She did understand why they had not dared ask her to be their prima donna again, and she knew that even if they had asked her, she would have had to decline, but it hurt nevertheless. She felt so left out. "As if I had not been appreciated," she sighed.

She wondered briefly if Raoul would take her to the reopening, then shook her head. He probably would not dare for fear of reminding his precious aristocratic friends and relatives of her "shameful" past. She sighed. It did not really matter. Things would not be the same anymore. _He_ would not be there anymore.

Not for the first time she caught herself thinking of her angel again, wondering what it would have been like to be _his_ wife. She remembered how he had been there for her after her father's death, when she had felt so alone. "Where was Raoul then?" she asked herself. "Why did he not stay in touch? Why did he never write?"

The truth hurt, but she understood now what the seven-year old orphan had not grasped: She had not been good enough for the Vicomte. The daughter of a well-known violinist had still been somewhat acceptable, but the destitute orphan was not.

"My angel did not care, who or what I was," she thought. "He loved me anyway. He cared for me, talked to me, comforted me, and later, when I was old enough, he gave me music and taught me how to sing."

She knew now that long before her debut in "Hannibal" she had deep-down suspected that he was a mere mortal and not an angel. No, she corrected herself. She had hoped that he might be a man. Because in his presence she had felt safe and loved. Even before he had revealed himself to her she had sensed the depth of affection he held for her.

"If only things could have stayed that way between us," she thought. "If only I had not angered him so by pulling off his mask. If only…" She shuddered at the memory of Buquet's corpse dropping onto the stage from the rafters, and once again she asked herself why on earth he had done that, and how she could have lost her trust in him so easily.

"I knew him," she thought, "I knew he was caring and understanding and gentle. I am sure now that there was an explanation, a reason why he did that. I just never bothered to ask him." She shuddered. Instead she had turned to Raoul that night. That decision had ultimately led to her failed marriage, to the destruction of the Opera Populaire and the death of her angel.

"If I had trusted him," she whispered, "if only I had had the courage to confront him and ask about Buquet instead of judging him like that, things might have been quite different…"

She would probably still be at the Opera Populaire then, singing lead roles. She would not have had to give up music and lead a meaningless life. And maybe, just maybe…. Christine blushed. In her daydream she had just imagined her and her angel getting even closer. Memories of his hands holding her and gently caressing her during that duet in "Don Juan Triumphant" coursed through her mind. She could not deny that she had enjoyed the sensation. And those kisses! Christine did not exactly remember why she had kissed her angel that night. He had tried to force her to stay with him, but had not actually asked her to give him proof of her affection. No, she shook her head. He would not have done that. He would have given her time and waited till she was ready.

Realization suddenly dawned on her. "It was me," she gasped. "_I_ wanted to kiss him." The room seemed to spin around her, as memories of their kisses assaulted her and awoke feelings of longing and desire in her that her husband had never been able to instill in her.


	7. Regret

Sorry for the delay, I will try to update more frequently. Anyway, now that Erik has started a new life, the story focuses again on Christine. This chapter explains why the story is called the way it is, and I remind you once again that I do not own anything or anybody, either POTO- or LND-related. I only quote from the latter for story purposes, don't own…

Chapter 6 – Regret

Christine de Chagny was sitting in front of her vanity, staring at her face in the mirror. She had just spent half an hour having her unruly curls pinned up by her maid, forced into an elegant hairstyle. Now she was waiting for her husband to come home and appreciate the result of this boring ordeal. Christine hated elaborate hairdos and preferred just tying her hair back with a pretty ribbon, but Raoul liked her hair pinned up. He thought it looked more "aristocratic" that way.

Today was the second anniversary of their wedding, and Christine felt somewhat compelled to make that day special. Maybe if she made an effort, her marriage could still be turned into some kind of friendly relationship? Christine doubted it. How could she ever expect to repair her relationship with Raoul when her heart mourned another man?

Two weeks ago had marked the second anniversary of the fire at the Opera Populaire – and the death of her angel. Christine fought back tears. She could not cry tonight, Raoul would get angry. Tonight belonged to her husband. It was their anniversary and therefore wrong to think of her angel tonight.

Her angel! Thinking of him made Christine's heart ache with grief, but at the same time it flooded her whole being with such a strong feeling of tenderness and longing, that it almost made her forget her bleak existence. Christine was not quite sure when she had finally realized that she was deeply in love with her angel. It had been a gradual thing, but there was no denying now that her heart would forever belong to a man that had died two years ago.

The first step towards realization had probably been when Raoul had denied her music. Music had always been such a strong tie between her and her angel, something they had in common. Music might have helped her deal with his loss, but without it, she had missed him even more and thought about him even more often.

Raoul's busy schedule and his lack of interest in her problems adjusting to her new social status as a Vicomtesse had been a factor as well. It had made her compare the two men, and she had started to see Raoul not as a hero and savior but as a human with flaws. She remembered little things, comments he had made, the way he had reacted to things she had said, and the more she thought about it, the more she got the impression that she had been of interest to him mainly because he saw her as a damsel in distress in need of a knight in shining armor. The fact that there was competition for her affection had probably played a role as well. She began to wonder how quickly his interest in her might have faded had she gone out with him the night of her debut in "Hannibal". The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that he had only seen her as a nice flirt back then. After all, he had not even considered the question of a chaperone. Her reputation had not concerned him in the least.

It was true that Raoul had promised her a lot of things, that he would always be there for her, protect her, guard her and guide her. Reality had proven to be quite different, though. He barely had time for her, and he did not even seem to understand her problem, her loneliness, her isolation, her desire to have a purpose in life, to do something meaningful.

Christine remembered a day, several months after their marriage. She had once again been overwhelmed by the utter boredom of her days, the uselessness of her existence, and she had cried for the better part of the afternoon. Even though she had washed her face and cooled her eyes before Raoul had come home, she had looked terrible. Raoul had of course noticed, and after scrutinizing her pale, haggard face, had asked, full of hope, "You are so pale, Little Lotte, could it be that you are finally…?"

She had had to look away then, fighting back tears again, and it had taken her a few moments before she could answer calmly, that no, she was – alas – not yet pregnant. Raoul had been slightly annoyed at her negative reply, but at least he had bothered to ask what else was wrong, since her condition could not be a mother-to-be's hormone-induced mood-swings. Christine had then hinted at the way she was feeling without a real purpose, with no duties, with nothing that she could do, hoping that Raoul, who always was so busy, would understand how much she suffered under this lack of work. He had stared at her uncomprehendingly, though, and called her "ungrateful" for not appreciating the wonderful life in luxury he had made possible for her by making her a Vicomtesse.

Then he had dragged her off to bed. "Since you are not pregnant yet…" he had said. He wanted an heir. Christine could understand that. She wanted a baby as well. But weeks and months passed, without her showing signs of being with child, and Raoul became more and more anxious to get her pregnant. While their love-making had at first been somewhat enjoyable, with the growing pressure of producing an offspring, it had turned more and more into a cumbersome obligation. Whenever they were spending an evening at home, not attending an official function, Raoul insisted on going to bed early where he made her submit to her marital duties until they both were exhausted. Foreplay and tenderness did not matter anymore, all there ever was between them now was a joining of bodies in order to create a child.

As a result, Christine had long ago stopped enjoying the process, but her desire to finally become a mother had kept her going. Deep down she hoped that with a child things would get better between her and Raoul again. At the very least, a child would have been able to fill the void in her heart. But no matter how hard or how often they had tried, Christine had not become pregnant in two years of marriage.

A few weeks ago, Raoul had finally forced her to submit to an examination by several experts in that area, to make sure that nothing was wrong with her. Christine shuddered at the memory. Never in her entire life had she felt more embarrassed and humiliated, than when she had had to bare her lower body to the eyes of three complete strangers, who had forced her legs apart and poked and prodded her in the most private area of her body. She had felt as if she would die with shame. Even now, weeks later, the memory of this experience made her feel sullied and unclean. That Raoul had refused to stay with her during that ordeal and at least make sure that none of these men groped her more than absolutely necessary had driven a new wedge between them.

By then it had not really mattered anymore. Christine's so-called love for Raoul had died long before that, and at the same time a deep and strong feeling for her dead angel had taken root in her heart. Unlike Raoul, her angel had never promised her the moon and the stars, but unlike Raoul, he had been there for her when she had needed somebody. She owed him so much and she had abandoned him so cruelly when Raoul had begun to worm his way into her thoughts and her heart.

Yes, she had been shocked when her angel had killed Buquet, and she still was. But now she knew that all her fear of him had been nothing but a side effect of this shock. She had been deeply hurt, too, and had felt somewhat betrayed by him. After all, she had seen him as her idol for so many years and then he had thrown himself off the pedestal she had put him on by committing a crime. She understood now that she had been much more furious at her angel that night for destroying her illusions about him than actually frightened by him. She had also felt bad for having put her trust in a criminal. She had been in a very precarious emotional state that night and Raoul had taken advantage of the situation. He had somehow insinuated that she needed protection from a dangerous man and that he would save her and rescue her.

She had been too agitated that night on the rooftop of the Opera to think clearly, but the idea of having another choice, of being able to show the man who had disappointed her so deeply that she did not need him after all, had held some appeal. She had been easy prey to Raoul that night, and yet… while she had exchanged her words of love with him then, her mind had been full of her angel's songs and melodies.

In the following months, whenever she had started to think about her angel, especially during his long absence prior to the New Year's Masquerade, Raoul had always been quick to remind her what a dangerous madman he was, a criminal, the man who had murdered Buquet. Raoul had somehow managed to blow her angel's crimes out of proportion and make her fear him. And yet, deep down she had always known that her angel was no threat to her, that she would always be safe in his presence. That's why she had walked up to him at the Masquerade, why she had approached him at the cemetery, and why she had abandoned herself so freely to his embraces and caresses during the performance of "Don Juan Triumphant".

That evening had ended in a nightmare. Christine tried to suppress the horrors from her memory, Piangi's body, the chandelier, the fire, her angel's raving madness and his threat to kill Raoul. But a tiny voice in her mind kept reminding her that Raoul had been plotting to kill her angel first. Raoul was not so different from her angel after all. He, too, preferred his rival dead. He, too, was willing to kill in order to get what he wanted or to protect what he thought was rightfully his. Her angel had only defended himself and retaliated. And she had to admit to herself that his precarious state of mind at that point had been mostly her fault.

"I just left him because of Buquet," she thought. "I never bothered to give him a chance to justify his actions. He may not even have been aware that Buquet had caused my change of heart, he might have thought that I turned from him because of his face, like everybody else has done in his life, that mother of his for instance, who made him wear a mask when he was still a baby, so that she would not have to look at his poor features. His self-esteem was so low already because of this birth defect, thinking that I despised him as well for something that was not his fault, may well have been the final straw."

Christine sighed. How much she missed her angel, his beautiful, soothing voice, his expressive eyes that could look at her so full of love, his strong arms around her, his hands, that had caressed her so tenderly, his lips…. Christine closed her eyes and tried to remember their kiss. The ugliness of his deformed face had not mattered to her then, she had put her own hand on top of his marred right cheek and it had felt so right. She had been way too agitated then, though, to realize how very special this kiss had been, how different from her kisses with Raoul.

If only she had understood her own heart then! "I would never have abandoned him," Christine thought. "We might have died together, but at least I would not have broken his heart." Tears welled in her eyes at the thought that her angel had died without ever knowing that she did love him after all. "If at least he were alive," she thought. "We could not be together anyway, since I am married to Raoul, but I could at least tell him, ask his forgiveness…" And she began to daydream, imagining what she would say to her angel, if he had survived the fire and they were reunited one day, how she would convince him of her love and show him that she had no problems with his face.

"I was so stupid," Christine thought. "I could have had the most wonderful, deep, meaningful marriage in the world and I threw it all away, because I did not understand my own heart until it was too late. I think I have always loved my angel, right from the start, from when I first heard his voice. My love for him may have changed over the years and grown, but it was always there, I was just too stupid to recognize it for what it was."

An old song that she had almost forgotten suddenly crossed Christine's mind. Her father had taught her that song when she was a child. She had often sung it then, her father accompanying her on his violin, hoping to earn a few francs with their music to pay for dinner, but she had sung the words automatically, not grasping their meaning. She had been way too young then, and the word "love" had had no other meaning for her then but the feelings she had for her father. She had not thought about this song anymore since her father had died. It was strange that she remembered it now. Now, that she knew what gigantic mistake she had made.

"It's almost as if my father had known," Christine whispered in awe. "As if he had wanted to leave me an important advice, his guidance, so that I might achieve happiness." If only she had remembered that song sooner, it might have opened her eyes and helped her make the right choice.

"Look with your heart," she repeated the song's refrain from memory, "and not with your eyes, your heart understands, your heart never lies…" How true those words were! Her heart had always told her that she need not fear her angel, her heart had made her walk up to him at the Masquerade, her heart had made her enjoy his caresses on stage, her heart had made her kiss him.

The more Christine thought about that particular song, the more lines she remembered. "Love is not always beautiful, not at the start…" She had to smile at that. This line almost sounded as if it had been written for her and her angel. They had certainly been off to a rough start, what with him playing an angel for so long and not telling her the truth until much later, or with her ripping off his mask, thus causing his temper to flare, and, worst of all, Buquet. But on the whole, the positive memories by far outweighed those dreary ones, and Christine would have given almost anything, to turn back time and live through these days again, to have him at her side again, to sing with him, talk with him, blush under the adoring look of his expressive eyes.

"Love's a curious thing," Christine remembered yet another line from the song, "it often comes disguised…" Yes, by now she knew that much from personal experience as well. Whatever she had thought her feelings for her angel were - friendship, gratefulness, admiration of his talent - love had not come to mind then, and yet, there was no denying that she had loved him right from the start.

Christine shuddered as another half-forgotten line resurfaced from her memory. "Love you misunderstand, is love that you'll regret…" Tears were streaking down her cheeks now freely. How true these words were! She had not recognized love when it had been staring her in the face. She had turned her back on it and walked away from it, and now she had to live with the consequences, with her guilt and her pain.

Xxxx

"There you are, Christine!" Her husband's voice woke her from her reveries. "Why did you not come down and meet me at the door on a day like this, our anniversary?" he asked slightly annoyed. "At least your hair looks presentable today," he continued, almost appeased. Then he noticed her swollen, red eyes and his mood worsened again.

"You have been crying." He stated flatly. "I hope it's not that nonsense about a meaningless life again!" Christine hastily dried her tears and forced a smile on her face. "No," she assured him. "It was just that… I remembered something my father once said and this memory reminded me once again how much I miss my dear papa." She inhaled deeply. At least the part about remembering words her father had told her, was the truth.

Raoul seemed appeased. "I know how much he meant to you," he admitted. "But today is a day to celebrate. Two years ago we were married. So dry your tears and smile at me."

Christine tried her best to concentrate on her husband. "I remember our wedding very clearly," she said non-committally. "It was a happy day."

Raoul gazed at her sweet face. The expression of her eyes was indescribable. There was sadness, melancholy, a memory of happy times and at least half a dozen other emotions that he could not define, and it turned him on. As annoyed as he sometimes was with his wife's moods, he still desired her body.

"I know that dinner will be ready soon," he said hesitantly, "but I think there are better ways to celebrate this day." He glanced at the large double bed. Christine winced. She was not in the mood for that kind of activity at all. Then she nodded, resignedly. Raoul was her husband, after all. It was his right to ask that of her. Maybe, if she closed her eyes, she could pretend…. Or maybe at least this time would finally result in a pregnancy…


	8. End

So, there is the next chapter. Like the last ones it is mostly build-up to the coming goodies, but we are getting really close to the fluffy stuff now...

Special thanks go to belleange48 for being my only reviewer of the last chapter. I know you are one of my most loyal readers!

Anyway, here is the chapter, and keep in mind that I don't own yada, yada...

Chapter 7 – End

Raoul de Chagny once again read through the papers his lawyer had prepared for him. Everything seemed in order, the only thing missing being the signatures. So that was the end now. Part of him felt slightly guilty for what he was about to do, but there certainly was no other way. The sooner he took this decisive step, the better – for everybody involved.

The Vicomte looked back at his marriage and wondered not for the first time, how it could have gone so wrong. They had certainly been in love three years ago, and when this madman had threatened her, Christine had turned to him for protection. The night of "Don Juan Triumphant" had been a bit more dramatic than he had planned, but still, he had been able to rescue his innocent little girl from the clutches of the monster, and like in all fairy-tales, they had gotten married, dreaming of living happily ever after. Their marriage had certainly started out well, but then his ungrateful wife had started to show signs of unhappiness. He had lowered himself to marrying a commoner, a theater girl with a somewhat tainted reputation thanks to the rumors regarding her relationship with the Opera Ghost, he had turned her into a coddled and spoiled princess, and instead of thanking God on her knees for having her granted such a wonderful life, she had been unable to appreciate her new status.

She had never directly complained, oh no. She was above such things. She had just made an open display of her misery. She had always had this suffering, melancholic look in her eyes, she had been very pale most of the time, had started to lose weight, and had just been moping around. She did not seem to enjoy any of the activities that women of her status usually loved, not even a shopping tour. When he suggested something like that, she usually just stated flatly that she already had more items of clothing than she needed. When he took her to a social event, she seemed to endure it, instead of enjoying herself. Once he had asked her what her problem was, and she had dared telling him something about not having any duties, about not having anything meaningful to do!

Raoul snorted. Thousands of girls in her situation would have been overjoyed at the prospect of never having any other obligations again than to amuse themselves and please their husbands. Why could Christine not be like them? He might have been willing to put up with her moods, though, if at least she had given him the heir he needed, the son to continue the blood-line. But no, Christine had not even been able to fulfill this most basic obligation of a wife. About a year ago, he had had her examined by three doctors who had all a reputation of being experts in the area of a woman's reproductive organs. They had not found anything at fault with her, except for maybe a certain inability to relax, which in some rare cases could affect fertility.

As a result of this diagnosis, Raoul had delayed the inevitable. He had given her another chance, as he called it, and tried for another year to get her pregnant, but to no avail. Since Christine's mood had not improved and she was still running around looking like misery personified, getting paler and thinner, while the rings around her eyes were getting darker, there was now not really a point in waiting any longer. "It's probably for her best as well," he tried to convince himself. "Since she does not appreciate the wonderful life I gave her, she will have to go back to where she came from."

Xxxx

That night Raoul returned home a bit earlier than usual. His pale wife with the huge, sad eyes gave him a surprised look. "Is something the matter?" she asked nervously.

Raoul bit his lip. Seeing her like this, in her sad beauty, made it harder for him to go through with his decision. "I have something to discuss with you," he said uneasily. Damn, he thought. That dreamy, resigned look made her even more appealing and desirable to him. "Do you have five minutes for me?"

Christine nodded. She had not been doing anything anyway. The book she was reading bored her and she had mostly been staring at the pages, thinking of her happy time at the Opera and of her dead love.

Raoul took a seat, then faced his wife. "You have probably noticed as well, that this is pointless," he blurted out. Christine stared at him uncomprehendingly. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Our marriage," Raoul explained. "You don't like our social status, and you have not even given me an heir…" Christine turned even paler. Had she understood him correctly? Had Raoul made it sound as if this was all her fault, their failed marriage, the lack of a child? She had tried her best to please him, had given up music for him, had given up her relationship with the Girys for him, had even…. Anger welled inside her, when she realized that it had been Raoul to make her betray and abandon her angel.

Raoul did not pay attention to her look of utter shock and droned on. "Therefore it is best if we both sign these documents and get it over and done with," Christine heard him saying. She realized that she must have missed something he had said, while thinking once again of her angel.

"What… excuse me, … I did not catch that… could you please…" she stammered. Raoul was getting impatient. He wanted to bring this to an end. "The divorce papers," he said curtly, passing her a few documents. "Here, just sign your name underneath and you can go back to living a meaningful life, by prancing around on a stage or in whatever way you want. Just not here in France," he added. "That's in the document. And you have to renounce the de Chagny- name, of course."

Christine felt dizzy. A divorce! Raoul was talking about divorcing her, leaving her because she felt useless as a Vicomtesse. And because she had not given him his heir. Even though a separation was probably the best under the circumstances, Christine knew that a divorce was also an insult. She would be an abandoned woman, cast out by her husband. Sure, Raoul's status in society would be slightly affected as well. A divorce was awkward for both parties, but he could play the poor, suffering husband, who had to get rid of a barren wife. He would get all the sympathies and soon young ladies would overlook the small problem of a prior marriage and he would be able to choose one worthy enough to become the mother of his future heir.

Christine's situation, on the other hand, would be far worse. She would take full blame for the failed marriage, especially because she had not been able to bear Raoul a child. She would have to live with the stigma of having been abandoned. People would talk behind her back and point her out to one another as the failure who could not give her husband a child.

Christine was mortified. How could Raoul do this to her after all they had been through? After he had gotten between her and her true love, forced her to abandon music? She was furious at him and deeply hurt at the same time. She only knew that she could not let Raoul realize how terrible a blow this was for her. Her pride would not allow this. She needed all her strength to get through this scene and out of his house without breaking down. She would not give Raoul the satisfaction of seeing her weak.

Summoning all her pride, she looked coldly at the Vicomte and asked, "where do I have to sign?" Her voice had an icy ring to it that Raoul had never heard before. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, he showed her the line. Christine took a pen and wrote "Christine Daaé, formerly known as the Vicomtesse de Chagny". Then she stood, looked through her former husband as if he were thin air and said, "you will excuse me, I need to pack."

Raoul was speechless for a moment, then he stammered, "Christine, there is no hurry, I mean, we do not have to part like this, you can certainly stay till you have decided where to go…"

Christine stared at him, as if he were a piece of dirt, then said haughtily, "since we are no longer married, it would be highly inappropriate for me to stay under your roof any longer. Do not worry, I will only take items that belong to me personally, and you will not have to provide for me. Gustave Daaé's daughter will not depend on the man that cast her out."

Turning on her heels, regally like a dethroned queen, she left the room. In their bedroom she quickly put together the few items that belonged to her, that had been salvaged from the Opera Populaire's dormitories, and stuck them all into the old bag she had kept for sentimental reasons. She quickly changed into one of her old, simple dresses and left the house where she had lived for approximately three years through the back door.

Xxxx

An hour later, Mme. Giry held a sobbing young woman in her arms and tried her best to comfort Christine, who was close to a complete nervous break-down. Christine had not seen either Mme. Giry or Meg in a very long time, and even then they had not been able to talk. Mme. Giry was therefore completely taken by surprise by this latest development in the life of her protégée. For the first time ever she heard about the problems Christine had endured in her short marriage, how she had had to give up music, how she had never been allowed to do anything meaningful, had never had any duties to fulfill, except for the one to provide an heir, at which she had failed miserably.

Mme. Giry was shocked at the way the young Vicomte had treated her surrogate daughter. He had seemed so much in love with her, way back when he had fought for her against… Mme. Giry winced. It had been three years since Erik's death, but she still missed him.

The crying woman in her arms brought Mme. Giry back to reality. "I should never have left my angel," Christine sobbed. "He would not have forced me to abandon music or my friends, he would not have wanted me to waste away in a life of leisure, nor would he have repudiated me for my inability to give him a child."

Mme. Giry patted Christine's back. "You might have faced different problems with Erik," she said calmly. She could understand that Christine was wondering now if choosing her other suitor might have been a better course of action. "Remember his temper, and his face which condemned him to a very solitary, reclusive life…."

Christine stopped sobbing and looked at Mme. Giry. "Erik?" she whispered. "Is that…" a shadow crossed her features. "I mean, was that," she corrected herself, "my angel's given name?"

Despite the serious situation, Mme. Giry smiled. "Of course," she said. "Didn't you know?" Christine shook her head. "No," she said dejectedly, "he never told me, but then, I never asked." And she began crying again.

"I treated him like dirt," she sobbed, "he loved me so much and only ever showed me kindness, and I…" Her shoulders shook violently. "If only he were still alive," she wailed. "If only I could ask his forgiveness… oh, I know that even then I could not hope for him to ever forgive me. I totally deserve all the bad that has happened to me," she continued miserably. "It is God's punishment for my cruelty towards my beloved angel…"

Mme. Giry tried to soothe her, but Christine got all worked up about her angel. "I should never have listened to Raoul," she cried. "My heart knew, I just ignored it, I let others make me fear my dear angel, let them turn me away from my true love… and to think that he died alone, unaware of my feelings…"

Mme. Giry stared at Christine. "You cannot possibly mean… were you just trying to tell me…" she was flabbergasted and did not quite know how to phrase her question. A tiny, sad, but incredibly sweet smile passed over Christine's features, then the young woman looked down. "Yes," she answered the unspoken question. "I was wrong. I did not love Raoul, at least not the way a wife should love her husband. I did love my angel," she hesitated for a moment, before correcting herself. "Erik," she said. "It was always him. I just did not realize it. I did not understand love then. And now it is too late."

Tears were running down her cheeks again, but Mme. Giry smiled at her. "In that case, you should be glad for the divorce," she said reasonably. "At least that way you won't have to be with somebody you do not love any longer."

Christine nodded in agreement, then said, "it's just… Raoul came between us. He pried me away from my angel, plotted against him, tried to get him killed in an ambush, and now that thanks to his machinations there is no future for me and Erik anymore, now that he has thoroughly ruined my chance at happiness, he casts me out…"

Mme. Giry sighed. "That is certainly unfortunate, but in my opinion you are better off without that Vicomte. At least you are free now, you can do now, what you like, start a new life for yourself."

Christine sighed. "I am also quite poor now," she said, "since I refused to take any alms from him. I will have to work for a living, and since everybody will know my fate…" she shrugged. "Can you see the former Vicomtesse de Chagny applying for a job somewhere?" Christine sounded bitter.

Mme. Giry shook her head. "Not in Paris," she agreed. "Too many people know you here. You might have to go abroad and start anew where nobody knows you and your past. There you can begin a new life. But not right away. At first you have to calm down and recover from the ordeal of your failed marriage. Gain a bit of weight, you are way too thin…" her voice trailed as she noticed that Christine was not quite listening to her.

"Think of your angel, Christine," she reminded her charge. "Think of how much he loved you. He would not want you to waste away in misery because a Vicomte got tired of you. Erik would want you to be strong and to fight back. Summon your strength and make the best of your situation. Do it for him."

Christine smiled sadly once again. "Do you think," she asked hesitantly, "that despite my long break and resulting lack of practice, I might be able to sing again? I would love to, and I am sure, he… Erik… would want me to continue my career…"

Mme. Giry pulled her even closer. "First you need to get stronger again, and to rest your nerves, then we can talk about singing. But I am sure that your voice will soon be back to its previous excellence once you start practicing again. He did teach you well, after all."

At the prospect of continuing her career, Christine suddenly felt relaxed and at peace. "I could honor his memory that way," she whispered. "I could still make him proud."

Mme. Giry sighed. Her heart ached for her two protégés. In her opinion the two would have been perfect for each other and it was a pity that Christine had realized her feelings for Erik too late. Her love would have meant the world to the deformed man and he would have cherished and adored her like no woman had ever been. But Erik was dead now, had died without ever learning about Christine's love for him, and Christine had to face life alone. "Draw strength from your love," Mme. Giry advised the young woman. "I am sure that Erik's love is still watching over you and will help you through this."

Christine dried her tears. "You are right," she said resolutely. "I should not cry because of Raoul and all that. It was my own fault that I lost my angel. My love was not strong enough then. But he loved me anyway. He loved me so much that he let me go, because he thought it was for my best and what I really wanted. I did not deserve this great love back then, and I do not deserve it yet right now, but I will try my best from now on to deserve it. I will strive to become worthy of my angel."

Christine paused for a moment. "You suggested I might have to leave Paris," she changed the subject, "and Raoul said something similar as well, namely that there was a clause in the divorce papers prohibiting me from performing on stage in France. I will therefore have to leave the country if I want to continue with my career. Where do you think I should go?"

Mme. Giry smiled. That was the right attitude. "_You_ are not going anywhere," she said, "at least not alone. He would kill me if he knew that I let you go abroad alone." Christine chuckled. Knowing her angel, she had to admit that her surrogate mother had a point. "You would come with me, then?" she asked hopefully. Mme. Giry nodded. "Yes, of course. In your precarious position as a divorced woman, you need a chaperone, and I do not know of anybody else who could take on that responsibility. Of course I cannot leave here immediately," she reminded Christine, "since I am employed at the Opera, but I will inform them first thing tomorrow morning, that I need to resign my position for private reasons. I should be free to leave in about a month, then we can go wherever you want."


	9. Rose

Sigh. I think I am late again with my update, but I hope you will find this chapter worth your while. This is the first idea I had for this story, the scene with which this story started in my head.

I also want to thank all my reviewers. Yeah, last chapter did move the story quite a bit. As to a divorce, a nobleman divorcing his wife because she did not give him the heir was probably somewhat acceptable at those times. After all, Bonaparte did that decades earlier. As to the woman's situation, that might not have been too rosy, especially, if she had come from a lower social circle than her divorced husband, which means: okay for Raoul, bad for Christine.

I still don't own anything or anybody, but what else is new?

Chapter 8 – Rose

Nadir returned home from the office in time for dinner. Their business had flourished over the past three years and he and Erik were making an incredible amount of money. He looked for Erik, to tell him about a new order he had received this afternoon and found his friend busy at the drawing board, finishing a sketch that would be due in two days. The window in Erik's study was wide open, and the cool breeze from outside was heavy with the scent of roses.

Erik looked up from his work, when Nadir entered. "I am almost done with the design for Lord Amerville," he announced. "And I have had a great idea how to implement the changes Lady Mazenby wants done to her villa. I will get everything done in time, as always."

Nadir smiled. It was incredible how Erik had changed over the past three years. Yes, there were still days when he lamented the loss of his memory and his deformed face, when he loathed himself and belittled himself because of these handicaps, but most of the time, he was content with his fate now. Erik loved his work, he loved their little cottage with its garden that thanks to high trees was well shielded , so that he did not have to fear curious stares from passers-by whenever he went out to tend to the two rose bushes he had planted there. For some reason unknown to himself, Erik had wanted roses around. It was one of those vague almost-memories, that surfaced from time to time, an instinctive feeling that red roses had somehow played an important role in his previous life. Red roses and black satin ribbons. Erik did not remember why, but somehow, in his mind, these two items belonged together. Therefore, whenever one of his roses needed to be tied to a supportive structure, he never used anything other than a black satin ribbon.

Even though he knew that nobody could see him when he was working in the garden, Erik usually preferred to go out there at twilight. He felt better protected then than in the harsh light, which revealed his hideous features with more clarity than the softer lights of dusk. Erik had not worn a mask since his accident at the burning Opera House. He did not even remember that he used to wear one, and Nadir had not thought it wise to remind him of that fact. Nadir had always feared that the mask might cause chafing and abrasion in an already very sensitive area of Erik's face, but now, with an additional scar on top of the deformity, he thought that wearing a mask would be tantamount to asking for an infection. He had therefore convinced Erik that he could go bare-faced in the house, where only he and Darius would see him, and in the garden as well. Erik had been hesitant at first, but when Nadir and Darius had shown him full acceptance and had not recoiled in horror at the sight of his deformed face every time he showed himself, he had grown a bit more confident and had gotten rid of that incredibly wide-brimmed hat in the house. He now only used it for his regular rides with César.

"I have new orders for you," Nadir announced. "Count Sainsbourgh wants a sketch for a gazebo in his garden. I have all the details here." He showed Erik the notes he had taken in the office with the specifications about what the Count wanted. "By the way," Nadir continued, "I just passed by the cottage number twelve, down the road, you know, the one that has been deserted for quite a while? It's got new tenants. Furniture was being delivered, and a carriage full of bags and suitcases had arrived. I heard that a widow is moving in with her two daughters. Just wanted you to know. I am not sure all the stuff that got delivered to that house will be actually safely stored inside, when you go for your ride later. It might therefore be a good idea to avoid that area for the next day or two, till this lady and her family have settled in."

Erik nodded. "I realized some commotion outside," he said. "Of course I could not well stick my monster's face out of a front window and check, but I thought you would be able to provide me with information on what was going on."

Nadir smiled. "Of course, Erik," he said. "You can count on me for that. Though I doubt anybody would be scared if they saw your face. I am fairly certain none of our neighbors would think of you as a monster if they saw you. They know you are a peaceful citizen like them, and that you are a successful architect. Why would they fear you?"

Erik shook his head. As much as Nadir had tried to encourage him, he was nowhere near ready to take this next step towards a normal life and meet people other than his two companions. He was content with the somewhat isolated life he had.

Xxxx

A few days later, at dusk, after a long day at the drawing board, Erik saddled César for one of his rides. It was a beautiful warm evening in late spring, the air smelled of flowers in full bloom and fresh grass, and both, Erik and his stallion, were looking forward to a long, relaxing excursions through the neighboring wood and meadows.

For the first time since he had heard about the new tenants in cottage number twelve, Erik and César took that route towards the nearby open fields. It was shorter than the detour they had made for the past few days, and Erik was reasonably certain that the ladies would have moved in by now and settled down into their new home. Like everybody else, they would have retired to their house now that it was getting dark and he could therefore risk passing that building again.

Erik had almost reached the cottage, when he stopped César abruptly, hiding in the shadows of a huge tree and stared transfixed at the little front garden of number twelve. A young lady was standing there, looking longingly into the darkness. He could see her face quite well, since she was standing fairly close to a lit window. She was thin and frail, her beautiful features of an almost unhealthy, translucent paleness were framed by an abundance of unruly dark curls and her expressive, large brown eyes shimmered with tears.

Erik gasped. His heart was suddenly filled with emotions he could not quite place. Tenderness, longing, awe at her beauty, compassion for whatever it was that made her weep, and an overwhelming desire to take her into his arms and dry her tears - Erik had never experienced so many different emotions in such a short time.

"Heavenly," he whispered in wonder. "An angel. She is easily the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." He was like glued to the place and could not get himself to continue his ride as planned. He drank in the young woman's features, trying to impress them into his mind, so that he would never forget them again. After a while another young lady, a blond one, called from the window. "You should come in now, it is getting cool outside!"

The object of Erik's adoration turned to her sister, a sad smile on her face, and said quietly, "I am coming." Erik saw her walk towards the house, following her with his eyes, till the door closed behind her. The sound of her voice had shaken him even more than her pale beauty. "She is perfection incarnate," he whispered, and he once again was overwhelmed by the desire to follow her, to introduce himself as a neighbor, and get to know her.

"You fool," he chided himself. "You would scare her. Have you forgotten who and what you are? With a face like yours…" His heart ached at that thought. He felt like smashing something in anger and desperation, cursing the cruel fate that had condemned him to a life of loneliness. Erik was about to force César into a wild gallop across the fields, when suddenly an image presented itself to his mind's eye, a red rose, a black satin ribbon tied around its stem.

Erik did not know what had triggered this idea, why he suddenly could not get the thought of the rose with the ribbon out of his mind. His head hurt and he once again had the impression as if an important memory were trying to break through. "A rose," he whispered, driven by a force he did not understand. "And a ribbon. I need to give her a rose with a ribbon."

Erik hastened home, repeating like obsessed "rose and ribbon," as if by saying these words aloud he might somehow be able to figure out why this suddenly seemed so important. He first went to his room and got the black satin ribbon, then went out into the garden, to where his rose bushes were in full bloom. He chose a particularly beautiful half-open rose, cut it carefully, removed the thorns, then neatly tied the ribbon around the stem. When he was satisfied with the result, he slowly, stealthily crept back to cottage number twelve. He climbed over the fence and furtively approached the house.

Erik had no troubles figuring out which of the windows belonged to the woman, who had impressed him so. Through the open widow he heard her talk to the other young lady in subdued tones. Erik cautiously approached that window, and slowly, so as not to draw attention to himself, managed to put the rose on the windowsill, then he quickly retreated into the shadow, climbed the fence once more and observed the window from behind the tree where he had hidden with César earlier.

He did not reach his hiding place one moment too soon, for as careful as he had been, the ladies must have sensed his presence somehow, maybe heard him climb over the fence or something like that, for the dark-haired beauty who made his heart beat faster, approached the window, to look out. She suddenly gasped, her eyes went wide and she put her hand over her heart as if to steady her own heartbeat. She stared at the rose on the windowsill, as if she could not believe what she saw, then her shaking hands hesitantly reached for the flower. She picked it up, then gazed into the dark garden as if looking for something – or somebody. "Angel?" her voice sounded desperate. "Angel? Are you here?" When there was no answer, she turned towards her sister, holding the rose out to her, then fainted into the other girl's arms.

Erik did not understand what had just happened. How could she have fainted? She had not even seen his disgusting face, which might have caused her to do so and yet… Was it something about his gift? Had he inadvertently offended her, hurt her? Could he not even admire her from afar?

Erik hurried home, in a turmoil of emotions. He had no idea how to deal with tonight's events. His heart longed for that girl, yet her unexpected reaction to finding the rose had scared him. He was getting more and more convinced that he had done something really stupid.

Xxxxx

Nadir was worried. He thought, he had heard Erik come home a while ago, but when he had gone to his room to ask for the finished designs that he wanted to take to the office the next day, Erik had not been there. Where was his friend? Had he gone out again?

Nadir was about to go out himself and look for his young friend, when he heard the front door and Erik entered. "Thank God," Nadir muttered, then he realized Erik's agitated state.

"What is the matter, Erik?" he asked concerned. "Has something happened to you?" Erik shook his head. "I made a big mistake," he said, sounding helpless and very sad. Nadir patted him comfortingly on the back. "I'll make us some hot tea and then you can tell me everything," he said reassuringly.

Half an hour later, Nadir had heard the whole story. His head swam. He had never met the young diva who had broken Erik's heart, but he knew of course what she looked like and the description Erik had given of the "angelic apparition", as he had referred to the young lady from number twelve, definitely seemed to fit. The fact that the young woman seemed to recognize the rose and call for an angel also seemed to point to her. But it could not be, or could it? That blasted singer, who had hurt Erik so much, was safely on the continent, married to her Vicomte, probably a mother by now. It was of course possible that the de Chagnys might come to London for a vacation or for business reasons, but even then, she would be with her husband, not her mother and sister. Nadir shook his head again. No, that did not fit either. The Daaé-girl had been an orphan, she had no mother or sister.

Then he gasped again. It could still fit. He remembered that Mme. Giry had raised Christine like a second daughter. What if Erik's old friend was here with both, her daughter and her surrogate daughter, and people just assumed that both young ladies were her natural daughters? But even so, what about the Vicomte?

"Why did she do that?" Erik asked, interrupting Nadir's thoughts. "How could she faint, when she did not even see my hideous face? And why did she call for an angel?" Nadir sighed. He needed more information. "I don't know," he finally said. "I have not met that family yet. I therefore do not know them. It is for instance possible that the rose reminded her of something – or somebody," he added cautiously. He was deliberately insinuating to Erik that the woman's heart might be taken, for if it really _was_ her, then Nadir wanted to make sure Erik understood that she was off-limits. And if this was just a coincidence and the girl in number twelve was somebody else, just the same type that apparently appealed to Erik, then it still could not hurt to remind Erik that his chances at winning a woman's heart were somewhat limited. Nadir recognized Erik's symptoms only too well. His friend was deeply impressed with that unknown beauty, whoever she was, and it was only too obvious that this could lead to major emotional problems for the deformed man.

"You think," Erik asked hesitantly, "that there might be somebody,…. a man?" Nadir shrugged. "I honestly don't know. Maybe she is just superstitious and thought an angel or devil had put the rose on the windowsill. As I told you, I have not met this family yet. Yes, I will try to befriend them and learn more," he relented. "But in the meantime, Erik, don't do that again. Don't climb fences and intrude upon other people's property. Maybe she was just scared because she knew somebody must have been outside and put the rose there, maybe that's why she fainted."

Erik sighed. "I know I can never meet her in person and talk to her," he said, pointing at his disfigured face. "But I wish I could see her at last from afar every now and then. If you had seen her, Nadir," he continued, "such beauty, such sad, big eyes, such wonderful, luscious curls, and such a sweet, melodious voice…"

Nadir sighed. Erik was in love, there was no doubt about that. Though, if this really _was_ the Daaé-girl, then it was also clear, that Erik had not recognized her, that he did not remember any of their past history. Nadir was fairly convinced that whether it was her or not, Erik would be facing difficult times soon. He would need his support and his loyalty. It was therefore important that Nadir find out as much as possible about the tenants of number twelve.

"I will see what I can do about this," he promised Erik. "Tomorrow. Now, we'd better go to bed."

Xxxxx

In cottage number twelve, Meg caught Christine just in time. She did not realize at once what had caused her friend to faint, then she saw the rose in Christine's hand. Her eyes widened as well, and she screamed for her mother.

Mme. Giry appeared immediately, alarmed by her daughter's frightened shrieking. "What is the… Oh my God," she quickly helped Meg put Christine down on her bed, then she got a pitcher full of water and sprinkled a bit on Christine's face to revive her. After a while, Christine stirred, then opened her eyes. Mme. Giry sighed with relief, then she asked Christine calmly, "what happened, my dear? Has something scared you?"

Christine showed her the rose and Mme. Giry gasped. "What… where did you get that?" Christine pointed to the window. "There, on the windowsill," she whispered. "I thought at first I was dreaming. I had been thinking of – him. I was out in the garden earlier, when it was getting dark, and I felt so close to him. He always loved the darkness and the night," she fought back tears. "That's why I like to go out when it is dark. It is the next-best thing to actually being with him. Then Meg called me in and we talked a bit, and I thought something was moving out in the garden. Meg laughed at first, but then she thought she heard something, so I went to the window to look if something was going on out there, and there it was…"

Christine looked at Mme. Giry, hope written all over her face. "Do you think, that maybe…?" She did not dare finish her question. Mme. Giry understood her anyway. "I don't know," she whispered. "It seems impossible. Meg saw the corridor collapse and bury him. But if by some miracle or other he had survived…" She shook her head. "I am fairly certain he would have let me know somehow that he was okay. He would not have wanted me to grieve for him."

Christine nodded. "But how… why?" she asked. Mme. Giry sighed. "I have no idea. I hope it is not your Vicomte playing with your feelings and having somebody put the rose there for you to find. We will find out what this is all about, I promise you, and if somebody is trying to hurt you, this person will pay dearly, I promise you that. But it is getting late. We should go to bed now, and Christine, you'd better close that window."


	10. Conversation

Well, you can't say I didn't try to update as soon as possible. At least I managed to do so before Saturday. Things are going to get interesting soon. We are not too far away from the actual meeting between Christine and Erik. Thank you all for your reviews, and to those of you who are only now discovering my older stories, thank you for reading and reviewing those as well. I love every single one of your feedbacks.

Of course I still don't own anything or anybody, but then, that was to be expected, right? ;-)

Chapter 9 – Conversation

The next day, when Nadir returned home from the office in the early afternoon, he made a little detour around cottage number twelve, in the hope of finding out more about the new tenants. He thought that he might be able to determine if they really were Mme. Giry with Meg and Christine, if only he could spot them from afar. He had never met either of the three women, but he knew of them. He was fairly certain he would recognize the diva, but Erik had also pointed out Meg to him once when he had shared box five with him for a particularly interesting gala performance. What he should do, though, if the family at number twelve really was them, he had no idea.

If the new neighbors were perfect strangers, he would tell Erik to keep his distance and not to scare the young lady in question, but what if… in that case, another question was bothering Nadir: if it was indeed Christine, where was the Vicomte? He and Christine had gotten married soon after the fire, when Erik had still been recovering from his injuries. Was de Chagny busy elsewhere and had sent his wife along with the Girys so that she would not be so alone during his absence?

Of one thing Nadir was absolutely certain, though. If the young lady in number twelve was Erik's lost love, it would be difficult to convince her that the rose had not come from Erik, that the Phantom, who had caused her so much discomfort in the past, was indeed dead. But it would be vital to convince her of her teacher's death. The last thing Erik needed, was a furious Vicomte crossing the Channel to make sure his defeated rival would not bother his wife anymore, possibly trying to kill him or arrest him for misdeeds that Erik could not even remember.

When Nadir approached the backside of cottage number twelve, though, his thoughts were interrupted when he heard heavy sobbing. He looked around, and saw a young woman sitting on the little bench under the hawthorn bush along the path that lead from their community to the nearby fields. She was crying as if all joy had departed from her life forever, heartbreaking sobs escaped her lips, tears were streaming down her face, and her hands were holding a red rose with a black ribbon tied around its stem.

Without thinking Nadir approached her. "Please forgive my intrusion, Miss," he said, offering her a clean handkerchief. "But you seem to be distressed and in need of assistance."

The young woman looked up at him, her eyes red and swollen from crying and Nadir knew that his worst fears had come true. The sobbing mess in front of him was indeed the former Christine Daaé, now Vicomtesse de Chagny.

Christine shook her head. "Thank you, Monsieur… Sir," she said, "I am fine." Nadir looked her in the eyes. "You are clearly anything but fine," he said. "I assume that you belong to cottage number twelve, we have noticed that a new family has moved in there. Maybe I should alert your relatives and inform them that you require assistance if you are uncomfortable with me, a stranger?"

Christine blushed with embarrassment. The gentleman in front of her had offered her his help and she had obviously given him the impression that his offer was not welcome. "I must apologize if I seemed rude," she said. "But they are not home right now. I thought this path was deserted and I would be alone here…."

Tears started once again to run down her pale face, and her fingers caressed the rose almost lovingly. Nadir was intrigued. If she was crying out of fear, because the rose made her believe that Erik was alive and probably nearby, why was she caressing the flower like that? He definitely needed to find out what was distressing her so much.

"You should not be alone when you are so agitated, Miss," he said, concern clearly showing in his eyes. "Allow me to stay with you till you have calmed down a bit." Christine nodded and moved aside to make room for Nadir to sit down as well. She could not tell why, but she trusted the stranger. His concern seemed genuine and comforted her somehow.

"You only moved here recently, have you not?" Nadir began a conversation. "I have been living here for a while. It is a quiet neighborhood, very relaxing. I am sure you and your family will like it here."

Christine's shoulders were still shaking, but she managed to reply, "yes, we are new here. In fact, Mada… my foster mother just went into town to discuss a few details with our landlord, and Meg has an audition for a job this afternoon, otherwise I would not be alone right now, especially not…" Her fingers again caressed the rose, while her eyes took on a sad, dreamy expression.

Nadir looked down at her hands. "A beautiful rose you have there, Miss," he said casually. "I assume you like flowers?" Christine's tears started running again.

"Now, now, why would you cry about a rose," Nadir said in a fatherly manner. "And such a beautiful red one, too! No reason to cry if you are being given a red rose…"

Christine stared at him. "How do you know..? I mean, why do you assume that somebody gave this rose to me?"

Nadir smiled. "That was not hard to guess," he said. "Unless you are cultivating roses yourself, which is unlikely, since you only just arrived here and are probably still moving in, you could either have bought it or been given it. But lovely young ladies normally don't buy themselves red roses. They receive them as tokens of affection from their suitors. The ribbon also points towards a gift," Nadir added, "it looks like some kind of gift-wrapping."

Christine almost smiled. A red rose, the flower of love. Back at the Opera Populaire her angel had used the flower to confess his feelings to her, even before she knew that he was a mortal man. He had not dared tell her, just like he had been reluctant to tell her the truth about himself.

"I wish I knew who gave me this rose," she murmured, absentmindedly. "If only…"

"So you do not know who your admirer is?" Nadir asked lightly. "How unusual, but certainly not a reason to cry?"

Christine shook her head. She blushed again. What must this friendly neighbor think of her? She was sitting on a public bench, crying over a rose, without even knowing where the flower had come from.

"It reminds me of someone," she explained. "He used to give me roses tied with a black ribbon like that. But I thought he had died three years ago. Then I found that rose on my window-sill last night, and now I keep wondering…"

Nadir nodded in understanding. "How disconcerting to be reminded like this of a dear departed one," he said.

Christine sighed. "I can't believe it's a coincidence," she retorted. "The way the ribbon is tied, the length of the ribbon, the length of the stem, it is all exactly like I remember. I cannot imagine who else could have given me that rose, but Meg assures me she saw him die, and Mada... my foster mother is convinced that he would have gotten in touch if he had survived."

"Well, I certainly do not have an answer to this puzzle," Nadir said. "But since this flower troubles you so, I assume you did not care too much about this dead suitor of yours?" he added in an attempt to find out why Christine had been crying.

To his immense surprise, she shook her head. "Oh no, no, Sir," she said, "quite the contrary." A dreamy smile crossed her haggard features. "I am shaken, yes, because I miss him so much and when I found that rose, for a moment I hoped that he… that it was him… that my an… Erik might still be alive!"

Nadir feigned being at a loss. "Sorry, I do not quite follow you," he uttered. "This Erik obviously loved you, since he used to offer you red roses. You say, you cared for him, too. So if this was a mutual thing, and he were not dead, why would he have made you believe for all those years that he was dead?"

Christine sighed. "He never knew," she confessed. "I treated him so poorly. He had been the most important person in my life for so many years, had taken me under his wings when my dear Papa died, and later he gave me music lessons and he must have been in love with me already. He was older than I am," she explained, "and once I was old enough to begin to understand what his feelings for me had developed into over the years, a childhood friend re-entered my life."

She looked stricken. "Then something happened, something bad, and my ang… Erik was involved. I thought the worst of him, I did not give him a chance to justify his actions, I condemned him. I think I was furious at him for having destroyed my rosy dreams of happiness with him. So I abandoned Erik and accepted my childhood friend's proposal. And then Erik died, and now I can never tell him…"

Nadir gasped. She could not possibly have meant what she had just said. "You would want this Erik to be still alive, even though he was involved in something so bad that you broke off with him?" he asked.

"It was bad," she admitted, "and he should never have… but he was not as guilty as I thought," she added. "I know more about the circumstances now, and I have forgiven him. But he cannot forgive me for my lack of trust and my betrayal anymore. If only…" Another sob shook her frail shoulders.

Nadir put his arm around her. "Don't start crying again," he said soothingly, "I am sure your dead friend understands everything now, and has forgiven you long ago. He is probably watching you from above now, and if he sees your distress, it might sadden him."

A faint smile crossed Christine's features. "An angel," she whispered, "you think he is a real angel now?"

Nadir felt a bit uncomfortable. Erik a real angel? As much as his friend had changed over the past few years, he would not exactly call him that. "Well.. I mean…" he stuttered. "But maybe it's all for the best," he continued. "Since you are honor-bound to somebody else.."

To his utter surprise the young woman protested. "I am not," she said. "I am free again. That's why I hoped so much that Erik was still alive when I saw the rose. We could still have a future now, if only... But of course that was stupid. He cannot come back from the dead."

Nadir stared at her hand and noticed the conspicuous absence of a wedding ring. What was going on here? Was she widowed or divorced? Was that why she now thought she was in love with Erik? Because her relationship with the Vicomte had somehow gone wrong?

"So your relationship with that other man did not work out?" he asked. "And now you seem to think that maybe you should have chosen this Erik instead? Is that it? Is that why you now forgive him whatever he has done that drove you away from him? Is that why you now think you love him?"

Christine hesitated. Why was she telling this stranger all of this? "I have asked myself the same thing," she confessed, "but I am sure about my feelings. I should never have left Erik. He is the one I was meant to be with. He made my soul sing. But why do you ask?" she suddenly stared at the friendly man next to her. "What does it matter, if I truly do love Erik or just imagine myself being in love with him? It does not matter now, or does it, since he is dead. Unless, of course…"

Christine's eyes were shining bright, full of hope. "Unless he is alive," she whispered. "What do you know about Erik? Monsieur, why does it matter if my feelings are genuine?"

Nadir felt trapped. He was not prepared to tell her about Erik just yet. "I thought that maybe…" he began hesitatingly, "you are glorifying things, that because your other relationship does not seem to have worked out, you are now clinging to the idea of being in love with a dead man, or maybe the romantic aspect of the thought appeals to you, and that you are getting all worked up because of an imagined affection for a dead person.. I was trying to help you get over this pointless love."

Christine gazed into the far distance. "I do not imagine this," she said softly. "Erik was my true love, and there will never be anybody else."

Nadir was not convinced. "What if he were alive and got involved in bad things again, like the one you mentioned?" he insisted. "What if you found out about more similar events in his past? Would you not turn away from him again?"

Christine shuddered at the thought of Piangi. "I do know of more," she admitted, "and you are right, these things are hard to swallow, but despite all the factors that have negatively influenced his life, have made him do bad things, deep down he was kind and compassionate." She smiled. "He cared for me, the orphaned girl, when I was only seven years old. He must have sensed that I needed somebody, and oh, how he showered me with love and understanding! And even in the end, the last time I saw him…" her voice trailed. "I had hurt him so badly, yet, when I kissed him, he released me. He let me go with my fiancé, thinking that that was what I really wanted and what was best for me…" Christine's eyes took on that dreamy look again, thinking of the kisses she had shared with Erik that last night in his lair.

Nadir stared at her incredulously. "You kissed Erik?" he asked, sounding way more agitated than he had intended. He had had no idea. Of course, if this had happened the night of the fire, then Erik could not have told him. He would not remember anymore.

"Yes, I…" Christine stopped herself. "Why does that surprise you so?" she sounded almost hysteric now. "There is something you are not telling me, is there not? What do you know about Erik?" she screamed. "Who are you? Did you put the rose in my window or what is going on here?"

Nadir inhaled deeply. By Allah, that little vixen had guessed more than he had expected her to do. He could not deny his involvement anymore, at least not completely. Maybe it was best to give her a few facts.

"Calm down," he said soothingly. "You are right in a way. I do know who you are talking about, I am not sure if he ever mentioned me to you, but Erik and I were friends. My name is Nadir Khan. And I do know your real name, Madame la Vicomtesse."

Christine paled. "You are wrong," she whispered. "I am not a Vicomtesse anymore. It is Christine Daaé again, or rather Christine Daaé-Giry, since Mme. Giry is in the process of legally adopting me. To give me a new name," she added. "For when I will be ready to return to the stage. The Daaé-name might be connected too much to the fire at the Opera Populaire, and people might think twice about hiring me, but as Christine Giry…"

Nadir gasped. "What about the Vicomte?" He needed to know everything now. Christine looked down. "He repudiated me," she whispered. "A divorce, we are not married anymore…"

Nadir was shocked. "How could he?" then realization dawned on him. "Because of Erik?" he asked, "was he still jealous of a dead man?"

Christine thought about it for a moment. "I guess so," she finally admitted. "He forbade me to sing, said it would remind people of my ignominious past, but I guess he probably just wanted me to forget about music and the one who had taught me to sing. The reason he gave me for wanting the divorce, though, was because I could not…" she blushed a deep shade of crimson. "I did not get pregnant."

Then she remembered what the stranger had just told her. "You knew Erik?" she asked hesitantly. "Did you recognize me last night and put the rose on my window-sill? Or was it...? You know, with you here in the area, I refuse to believe that it was a coincidence. There must be a connection to my dear angel somewhere. Is he really...?" She did not finish the sentence. Then a shadow crossed her features that had just been animated by hope. "It can't be him," she sighed. "He wouldn't know about my failed marriage. He would not have interfered like that. He might have watched me from afar, eager to see me again, but he would not have given me the rose which would only make me think he was still alive. There must be another explanation for the rose. I must get used to accept his death."

She looked so utterly miserable at those words that Nadir could not doubt the sincerity of her feelings any longer. "Dry your tears, Miss Christine," he said softly. "If it is true that you love Erik, there is no need for you to cry. Erik is alive."


	11. Alive

WOW! 15 reviews for one single chapter! That's a new record! Thank you all so much for your kind words. The result is, the next chapter is ready, a bit sooner than normal, not yet the much anticipated meeting between our two lovers, but we are getting there...

And lest you have forgotten in the meantime, I still don't own anything or anybody.

Chapter 9 – Alive

Christine stared at Nadir as if she thought he was insane, or maybe she was, since she had just imagined him telling her that her dear angel was alive. That could not be true, though, or could it?

"Alive?" she whispered, begging for yet another confirmation of this unexpected revelation. "But how? Where…?" Nadir smiled. "It is true. He did get injured and trapped when the corridor collapsed, but he survived. He is alive, I give you my word on that. He is not too far away, …"

Christine closed her eyes. Slowly the truth of Nadir's words began to sink in and a wave of relief washed through her and filled her entire being with joy. Her angel was alive! He was close by, she might soon get a chance to see him again, talk to him. Ask for his forgiveness and try to explain everything to him. She glanced down at her rose. There was no doubt in her heart anymore as to who had put the rose in her window, but in that case… She did not quite dare hope, but if he still offered her the symbol of love after all she had done to him, could it possibly mean that he… that he still loved her, despite everything?

Nadir noticed how her red and swollen, tear-stained face suddenly seemed to radiate with happiness. He was deeply touched by the look of utter tenderness in her beautiful eyes, but he realized that now she knew the good part of his news, he also needed to learn the rest. He cleared his throat and began to speak. "There is something I must tell you," he said, when he was interrupted.

From inside the little cottage came a call. "Christine! Christine, where are you? Are you home?" Mme. Giry's voice sounded frightened. It was not like Christine to leave the house on her own.

Christine called back. "I am coming, Mme. Giry, I just stepped out to explore the neighborhood!" Then she took Nadir's arm and urged him to follow her. "Come," she said, "I will introduce you to my foster mother, who is a good friend of Erik's as well. Then you can tell us all you know about Erik."

Nadir agreed. "There are a few things you both need to know," he stated, "and I suppose it is best if I tell the two of you everything right away."

Xxxx

Mme. Giry was more than a little surprised, when Christine came in through the back door, an olive-skinned, elderly stranger in tow. Christine had obviously cried, her eyes were red and swollen, her face puffy, but she was brimming with excitement and positively glowing, as if something wonderful had happened to her. She threw herself into Mme. Giry's arms, laughing and crying at the same time.

"You won't believe what I just learned," she cried, clinging to her foster mother. Mme. Giry put a comforting arm around her, then asked, concerned, "what is the matter, Christine? You seem terribly agitated, and pray tell me, who is this gentleman?"

Christine immediately left her foster mother's embrace, turned to Nadir, took his hand and presented him to Mme. Giry. "This is Monsieur Nadir Khan," she introduced him. "Erik's friend. He lives in our neighborhood. And he says that …" She could not continue, overwhelmed by her emotions.

Mme. Giry stared from Christine to Nadir and back to Christine, unsure of what to believe. Nadir Khan here, the red rose in Christine's window, Christine's current state of emotional turmoil – there was only one explanation how all these pieces of the puzzle could fit together, but how could this be?

"Erik?" she finally gasped. "Is Erik alive?" Nadir nodded. "Yes, Mme. Giry. He is alive."

Mme. Giry was every bit as shaken as Christine. "But how?" she asked. "Why has he not contacted me in all these years?" She suddenly remembered her manners. "I am sorry Monsieur Khan," she addressed her visitor. "I am glad to finally meet you, Erik has mentioned you a few times. But please, come this way, let's all sit down in our parlor. We are still getting organized, so it is a bit of a mess, which I hope you will not hold against us, and then you must tell us all you know about Erik."

The three of them proceeded to the parlor, Mme. Giry made some hot tea and then they settled down and Nadir began to tell his story. He started with the fire at the Opera Populaire, how he had heard the news that the famous Opera Ghost had perished, how he had been worried since Erik had not shown up at his place and how he and his servant Darius had gone to look for Erik as soon as it was dark enough.

The two ladies were worried, when they heard about Erik's injuries and his slow recovery. "It was touch and go for a few days," Nadir told them, "he was running a high fever and he was unconscious for days, but eventually he did pull through. It took a while for him to recover, but you need not worry, Erik is quite healthy now, and not as pale anymore as he used to be, since he is now living in a house, not in a subterranean cavern. His arm has healed nicely, too, he has full use of it again." Nadir hesitated for a moment.

"There is something else," Mme. Giry stated. "Something is wrong with Erik. Something that kept him from contacting us. Maybe he thought it would be better for us to think him dead than to learn about his new handicap. What is it?"

Nadir smiled at her encouragingly and squeezed Christine's hand to calm her. "He is fine, really," he said. "You must believe me. There is a reason, though, why he did not contact you," he added cautiously. Then he decided that there was not really a point in delaying the inevitable. It was obvious that both ladies cared deeply for his fried and were probably right now assaulted by horror-visions of what kind of long-term or permanent damage Erik might have sustained in that accident. It was for the best to tell them quickly, so he blurted it out. "He does not remember," he told them. "Nothing from his life before the accident. He did not remember either of you, or even me. When he finally came to, he did not know my name or where he was."

The two ladies were shocked. "Oh my God," Mme. Giry whispered. Tears were welling in Christine's eyes again. "My poor angel," she sobbed, "does he… is he..?"

Nadir shook his head. "Next to no improvement," he stated flatly. "I brought him here soon afterwards, under the pretext that it would be best to start anew elsewhere, where nobody knew him and would expect him to remember people or situations, since I did not think it was safe for him to stay in Paris. I need not have worried," he added. "He has no desire of going out and meeting people, he only leaves the house for a ride every now and then, but only when it is dark enough that his features are impossible to discern." He sighed. "He took it very hard, when I had to remind him of his deformity."

Christine gasped. "You had to remind him…?" she asked. Nadir nodded sadly. "Yes," he confirmed, "he did not even remember that, or his own name for that matter. But he remembers everything he's learned," he added quickly, trying to comfort the two ladies, who were obviously worried about Erik's condition. "He can read and write, he speaks Persian, and he is one of the best-paid architects here in London." Nadir smiled. "Erik is making a decent amount of money," he informed Christine and Mme. Giry. "And it is all legal."

Christine looked at him. "But the rose," she asked. "If he does not remember me… us… how come he gave me that rose last night?"

Nadir sighed. "I am not quite sure," he finally admitted. "It may be a first sign of a slight improvement, or it may have been on an instinctive level. He did not recognize you," he explained, "of that I am certain. He had no idea who you were and that he had once known you. But when he saw you in your front garden, it must have triggered something. He told me that he suddenly had this compulsory urge to give you a rose tied with a black ribbon. It seemed like the right thing to do, he said. He did not know why, just that he had to do it."

Christine had turned a deathly pale. "He has forgotten me," she whispered desolately. Nadir patted her arm. "No, he has not," he told her. "He does not remember you right now, which is not quite the same. But even if his mind does not remember, his heart certainly recognized you. You should have heard him talk about the angelic apparition he had seen in the front yard of number twelve. Totally smitten. You don't have to worry about his feelings for you."

Christine nodded bravely. It would be hard for her to deal with Erik's memory loss. There were so many happy memories of the time when he had still been her angel, which she wanted him to be able to remember one day, and there was of course the question of her betrayal. It somehow did not feel right to resume their relationship as if all that had not happened. She needed him to understand and to forgive her. "At least he is alive," she finally mumbled, "everything else we'll learn to manage."

She turned to Nadir abruptly. "When can I see him?" she asked. Nadir thought about it for a while. "I don't know," he uttered at last, "I have to talk to Erik first. You see, even though he described you pretty accurately, I was not sure it really was you. So I did not mention the possibility that his former voice student might have moved here. I also did not know about the divorce and whether or not your presence here might cause him harm. Now, of course, I will tell him your name and then we'll see if that triggers another memory. Whether or not he remembers you may be totally insignificant, though, if he does not feel comfortable showing you his face." Nadir paused for emphasis. "He is not wearing a mask now," he explained. "He did not remember having worn one before, he did not have one with him, when I found him after his accident, and frankly, now, with an additional rather nasty scar in that sensitive area, I do not think he should ever wear one again. It can't be healthy for him to get the scar infected from chafing. So, if you want to meet him, be prepared that he will be bare-faced."

Christine smiled dreamily. She was not afraid of Erik's face, not anymore. Oh yes, it was ugly, and with the new scar it probably looked even worse, but it was the face of the man she loved. He had been bare-faced when she had kissed him, and it had been the most amazing experience, much, much better than anything she had ever felt when Raoul had kissed her. "I don't mind his face," she whispered tenderly. "As long as I can see him at all. I have missed him so."

Nadir was touched by the depth of her feelings for his deformed friend. "I'll do my best to convince Erik that he needs to see you soon," he promised, then turned to Mme. Giry. "I am afraid, I will have to ask you to be a bit more patient," he said. "But I don't think I can make Erik agree to meet two people at the same time. If anything, he is even more reclusive now than he was at the Opera Populaire, which is understandable, since now he does not have the comfort of the mask to hide behind. I know you want to meet him as well, but let's try and make him accept Christine back into his life first. Once he is used to her seeing him unmasked, we can hopefully convince him to meet you as well."

Mme. Giry sighed resignedly. "Of course I want to see Erik as soon as possible, but I can understand that confronting him with both of us at the same time might be a bit much for him. I will wait till he has adjusted to Christine and is ready to be reintroduced to me."

Xxxx

Erik was nervously waiting for Nadir's return. The more he thought about it the more he was convinced that offering the rose to that beautiful girl had been a fatal mistake. What if these new neighbors now thought that a dangerous stalker was haunting the little community? He had probably scared the young lady out of her wits.

Erik was about to curse himself for having been so irresponsible the night before, when he heard the front door opening. He hurried down to meet Nadir, hoping that the latter might have been able to repair at least part of the damage, he, the freak Erik, had caused to the psyche of a sensitive young lady.

To Erik's great surprise, Nadir was grinning broadly. "Erik, you need not worry," he said. "She is not angry, nor scared. She is happy to have found you again!"

Erik stared at him, uncomprehendingly. "What are you talking about? How can she be happy…?"

Nadir smiled at him. "Don't give me this incredulous look," he chided his friend. "It is true. She knows you. She thought you had died in that fire, and was overjoyed to hear that you are alive. It also seems that you used to offer her red roses tied with a black ribbon before, that's why she got so agitated over your gift. She hoped against hope that it might be a lifesign from you."

Erik looked at Nadir as if he thought the latter had lost his mind. "How can an angel like her have known a monster like me?" he asked. "And you say I have given her red roses before?" He shook his head. "No, that cannot be. There must be a mistake. If somebody like me offered a beauty like her a red rose, she would run as far away as possible and never come back. She might have tolerated my presence before out of compassion, but missing me? I don't think so."

Nadir chuckled. "She wants to tell you everything about your previous relationship. I said I had to check with you, since you are not really seeing anybody, but that surely you would make an exception for her, since she is such an old acquaintance…"

Erik was downright terrified. "You did not invite her over, or did you? She cannot come here, she cannot see me, I would die with embarrassment, I do not want to scare her with my hideous face.."

Nadir put a comforting hand on Erik's shoulder. "Stop worrying, Erik. She has already seen your face. She knows what you look like. It does not matter to her. She wants you back in her life. Apparently the two of you were quite close at some point. She knows that you don't remember her, I told her as much. But I thought, maybe meeting her… it might help you regain some of your memories," Nadir said slyly. "At the very least she can tell you a few things about your shared past."

Erik hesitated. "You think, she might be able to help me regain my memories?" he asked. Nadir nodded. "It is possible," he admitted. "After all, you seem to have sort of remembered that you used to give her red roses tied with a black ribbon. Maybe she will be able to awaken more similar memories that are now buried deep within your mind."

Erik was beginning to see some appeal in meeting this angelic beauty. It was true that seeing her had made him give her the rose. Since he had apparently done so before her presence must have triggered something within him. Of course, meeting her would also mean exposing her to his hideous features. That thought made him very uncomfortable. It was one thing to show his face to Nadir and Darius. They were men, they were not easily scared, and had probably seen all sorts of horrors in their lives. But a delicate young woman like her? She should not have to endure the ugliness that was his poor excuse of a face. Somebody like her should only be surrounded by pleasant things. But maybe if he wore his wide-brimmed hat and pulled it into his face to hide the abomination that were his features? He could also avoid looking at her directly, thus showing her only his normal-looking left profile. Yes, he decided, that way he might be able to face the young lady.

"When would she be available to meet with me?" he asked cautiously. "The sooner the better," Nadir informed him. "She would have preferred coming over with me right away, but I could convince her that I needed to prepare you first. If you have decided you won't mind showing her your face, which she has seen already anyway…" For a brief moment Nadir tried to imagine what Erik's reaction would be if he told him that the young lady in question had not only seen his deformed face, but also kissed it. He had a feeling, though, that Christine would want to be the one to tell Erik this detail.

Erik nodded nervously. "I suppose I will have to if I want to learn more about my past," he mumbled. "I only wish I knew more about my previous relationship with her, like how we met and such. I do not even know her name!"

Nadir smiled. "I can help you with that," he said. "Her name is Christine. Christine Daaé."

Erik stared at him. "Christine," he whispered. "Of course. That is her name. How could I have forgotten?" Erik shivered, having to fight off a sudden feeling of dread, as if this Christine was meant to break his heart, betray his love and hurt him terribly.


	12. Meeting

Thank you all for your lovely reviews! I also must apologize for the delay in posting this chapter. I know you probably hoped for an update yesterday, but… real life got in the way. I did my best, though, to get it up today.

I still don't own anything or anybody, just reminding you all, to be on the safe side…

Chapter 11 – Meeting

The next morning, Nadir stopped by at Mme. Giry's cottage to inform the ladies that Erik had agreed to see Christine and that he would therefore stop by at three, on his way home from the office, and escort Christine to their home for her meeting with Erik.

When Christine heard these news, she was torn between anticipation of seeing her beloved angel again and nervous giddiness at the thought how this meeting would go. Either he would not remember anything from their past, in which case it would probably be hard to make him relate to her again, or he did suddenly remember, like he had remembered the rose, and then he would probably be rightfully angry at her.

Nadir noted her agitation and grimaced. "Not you as well," he said exasperated, "it's bad enough that Erik is fretting. Just relax and let your heart guide you. I am confident that everything will be fine. At least eventually. Erik may have lost his memory, but he is not blind or stupid, and he would have to be both, in order not to notice the sincerity of your feelings for him. It may take him some time to get used to the idea that somebody could actually love him, deformity and all, but he will come around. If he is a bit distant at first, just be patient and give him time."

Christine forced a confident smile on her face and nodded bravely. She would certainly do her best to convince Erik that she loved him, even though things might not be easy between them at first.

Xxxx

Erik spent a restless morning. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that it had been a mistake to agree to this meeting. He inwardly cursed Nadir, for having persuaded him to see this Christine. Christine! The name alone evoked all sorts of feelings. Love, tenderness, longing, desire, an urge to protect her and keep her safe, to make her happy at all cost, alternated with despair, heart-break, anger, wariness, jealousy, and a pain so excruciating he thought it would kill him.

"No good can come from meeting her," he kept telling himself. "Surely she either has hurt me deeply in the past or will do so now, or both. There is no way perfection like herself can tolerate a freak like me." But deep down his heart yearned for her. No matter how often he reminded himself that all he could hope for her to feel for him was pity, he longed for her presence.

For the first time since he had moved to England, Erik could not concentrate on his work. He caught himself several times sitting there, his eyes closed, trying to remember her sweet face, her huge, expressive eyes and the wealth of dark curls that framed her pretty face. He finally gave up on the design he had been working on and tried to draw her beautiful features from memory.

Erik's pencil raced across the piece of paper, and almost automatically sketched the face of this Christine-girl, who had taken full possession of his entire being, mind, heart and soul. Only when he was finished and looked down at the drawing, did he realize that the hairstyle he had given her in the picture did not match the way her hair had been done when he had seen her in the garden two days ago. It looked much more elaborate in his drawing, she was wearing unusual star-shaped hairpins of a design he did not remember ever having seen anywhere.

Erik stared at the picture. What was that? Had he seen her like that once before? Had she maybe looked like that when he had first met her? Or the last time they had seen each other? Or was this just a figment of his imagination, the way he would want her to look if she were his…. Erik barely dared to finish the thought. But he could not deny that since he had seen her, buried desires had awoken in his heart, and the dream of leading a normal life like any other man, of having a loving wife, had certainly taken on a very concrete form. He knew now that he wanted this lovely Christine to become his bride.

Erik laughed bitterly. Right. Hell would freeze over before somebody as perfect in every sense of the word as her would consent to marry somebody like him. "Don't get your hopes up," he kept telling himself. "Pity, that's all she will feel for you, and maybe a certain curiosity. You cannot expect more."

Erik barely ate at lunch time, and afterwards he just spent his time sitting in front of the huge wall clock in the parlor, watching the movement of the hands and getting more and more anxious the closer the moment of her arrival came. Erik had put on his wide-brimmed hat and pulled it into his face in a way that the deformed right side was mostly hidden by the brim. Of course in order to achieve this result, the hat was sitting on his head at an unusual angle. Erik knew that he looked a bit grotesque that way, but he thought that this was still better than fully exposing his hideous face.

Xxx

Shortly after three o'clock Nadir and Christine arrived at the front door. Just before pulling out his key, Nadir gave Christine an encouraging smile. "Don't fret," he told her, "just relax. Be strong for the both of you." Christine nodded, she could not speak. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it would burst. Only a few more moments and she would see him again, him, her angel, the man who had been her world after her father had died, and whom she had hurt and betrayed so badly later.

Nadir unlocked the door and called for Erik. "Your visitor is here, Erik, come and greet the lady," he said. Erik heard him and was suddenly certain he would not be able to muster the strength to go out into the hall and face the woman who had impressed him so. He hesitated for a moment, then finally managed to get up and walk the few steps to the door. He opened it, and, holding on to the doorknob for support, he peeked out into the hall.

"There you are," Nadir said jovially. Christine put her hands on her heart, which was beating so fast and so loudly, that she thought everybody must hear it. Waves and waves of emotions cursed through her, and she almost fainted, overwhelmed by joy, when she recognized the tall figure standing in the door to the parlor, his features shadowed by an enormous hat. Even though she had known for about twenty-four hours that her angel was still alive, only now, that she was in the same room with him, did the full impact of this fact hit home. There he was, Erik, the man, who had taken care of her, when she had been orphaned, had shaped her mind and her voice, and had finally taken possession of her heart, without her noticing. The man she had walked away from, because she had been afraid of his temper and his dark past, but whom she had not been able to forget, and whom her heart had longed for those past three years.

There was no mistaking the tall figure. This was her Erik, whom she had thought dead, very much alive, and apparently strong and healthy. Christine felt an urge to run to him, throw herself into his arms, to touch him, feel him, make sure that this was real, that he was indeed there, that she was not dreaming. But her legs felt like lead and she could not move, she simply stared at him in wonder and finally whispered, "Oh Angel, it is true, you are alive after all!"

Erik gazed at her nervously. He thought that she was even more beautiful than he remembered her from two nights ago. Her slightly flushed features looked so animated now, and her eyes looked at him so … almost as if she really did care for him. He was not sure how to react. How did one greet a female visitor? What did she expect him to say or do? And more importantly, what had she just called him? Angel? Surely he must have misunderstood?

"Why…," Erik nervously cleared his throat. "Why do you call me that, Miss Christine?" he finally blurted out, cursing himself inwardly the next moment. Of all things to say, this had probably been the most stupid. He felt awkward and would have wanted to run away and hide.

Nadir laughed. "Erik, why don't you show Miss Daaé the garden with your rosebushes and let her tell you how the two of you met. By the way, you used to call her Christine before, and I think she would prefer this to the more formal Miss Christine. And for Heaven's sake, Erik, take off that ridiculous hat! Are you planning to scare the young lady away?"

Erik glowered at his friend. "You know pretty well, why I must wear this hat," he said defensively. Christine smiled. Some things never changed. Her angel was just as self-conscious about his face as he had been before his accident. Strangely enough, though, Erik's obvious insecurity helped her overcome her own nervousness.

"I would love to see the garden," she said, beaming at Erik. "And while I understand your desire to hide your face, ang.. – Erik - I assure you, that you do not have to do so with me. I have seen your face before, and it holds no horrors for me. In fact, I would love to see your face again." She hesitated. She had almost told him that she needed to see his face again, since it was the face of the man she loved, but Erik was so obviously confused and at a total loss what to do next, that she had to go slow, to make him feel comfortable in her presence, to make him trust her. She therefore changed her mind and said something completely different. "But if you prefer to wear the hat, at least for the time being, that is fine with me as well," she told Erik. "If it makes you feel safer or more confident to wear that hat, by all means, keep it on."

Erik nodded. She was right, the hat made him more confident. Wearing it was the only way he could get through this awkward situation. "Will you follow me please," he told Christine stiffly, "the garden is that way." Then he turned on his heels and walked towards the garden, not waiting to see if Christine would follow him. If he had deep down expected her to stay behind, he was proven wrong. Christine hurried after him. "Please slow down a bit," she begged him, "if you run like that, we won't be able to talk!"

Nadir followed them with his eyes and chuckled. He had observed Christine very closely during this short scene, and he thought that she had been wearing her heart on her sleeve. Her feelings for Erik had been more than obvious, but apparently Erik had been so busy fretting and being nervous that he had not noticed. Nadir had no doubts that eventually these two would be able to overcome all obstacles and that their love would be victorious in the end, but he also was beginning to think that maybe their road towards eventual happiness might be long and bumpy. "Ah well," he sighed, "Rome was not built in one day either, and haste makes waste, so let's just give them time and be patient."

Xxxx

Christine caught up with Erik only once he had reached his rosebushes. She immediately noticed that they were tied up with black satin ribbons and smiled inwardly. So that was the explanation why he had had the right type of ribbon in the house when he had spotted her in the garden two nights ago.

"Your roses are wonderful," Christie told him. "Nadir told me that you are tending to them yourself. Was it your idea to plant them?"

Erik nodded, he did not think he would be able to get out one single word. He could not remember ever having felt so awkward. What did you say to a beautiful woman, who you were falling in love with and who had known you for a long time, probably knew things about you that you did not know yourself?

Christine noticed Erik's discomfort. It troubled her deeply to see him so ill at ease. The Erik she remembered had always been in control, commandeering. She realized that in a way their roles were reversed now. Now she was the one who held the answers, who needed to make him relax a bit, open up to her, and try to make him remember.

"Would you like me to tell you about how we met?" she asked him shyly. Erik once again nodded. To him it seemed like a miracle that she was talking to him at all. Why had she even come? Surely she had better things to do than talk to an amnesiac freak almost twice her age? Her presence also made him nervous, awaking in him needs and desires he had not known he even possessed.

"In that case, we should sit down somewhere," Christine suggested. "I don't think it would be comfortable to stand here during our conversation." Erik bit his lip. How stupid of him. He should have offered her a seat. How could he have forgotten? He hastily pointed towards a garden bench standing in the shadow of a huge apple tree. "How about – there?" he stammered.

Christine beamed. "That bench is perfect," she said, "come on!" And she lead the way to the bench and sat down. Erik followed her hesitantly, then remained standing next to the bench. Christine sighed. This was going to be more difficult than she had anticipated. She patted the bench next to her and looked at Erik encouragingly. "Sit down here with me," she begged him. "This will be a long story. You will get tired long before I will be finished, if you remain standing."

Erik gingerly sat down at the other end of the bench, thanking God that she was sitting to his left, thus facing the normal half of his face.

"We have known each other for a long time," Christine began her story. "We met shortly after my father died." She furtively glanced at Erik. He was sitting stiffly at a short distance from her and oozing nervousness. "I was only seven years old, and since my mother had died a few years before, I was left an orphan."

Erik's brow furrowed. Hadn't Nadir mentioned that the inhabitants of number twelve were a widow with her daughters? If this Christine was staying there with her mother and sister, why was she telling him she was an orphan?

"Your mother," he stammered, "aren't you with her at cottage number twelve?" Then he cursed himself. What a stupid thing to say! She must think him a dim-wit, if he continued to blurt out nonsense like that and did not managed to put together at least one coherent phrase.

Christine smiled. "Oh, Madame…" she interrupted herself. She did not want to confuse Erik even more by mentioning the Girys. "She is my foster mother," she explained. "My real mother died, when I was very young, as I just mentioned. I do not remember her well, but I do remember my dear papa. His name was Gustave Daaé, and he was my world. We loved each other so much. He was all I had and I was all he had."

Christine once again glanced at Erik, fighting the urge to snuggle up to him, wrap her arms around him and tell him that he was her father's true successor, her world. But she had a feeling that doing so would terrify Erik in his current state of mind, so she composed herself and continued her story.

"We were travelling around a lot," she explained. "My father played the violin and I sang…" Erik stared at her. "You sang…" he repeated slowly, surprised. Of course, singing! Somehow this Christine and singing were connected. He was not entirely sure how, and why he had not thought of her singing before, but he was now certain that the fact she had been singing was a vital bit of information he had not remembered until she had mentioned it.

Christine nodded. "Yes, I sang," she said softly. "My father and I were rather poor, but we were happy. Until he…" she fought back tears. Despite the number of years that had passed since her father's death, she still missed him terribly.

"My papa fell ill," she continued, her voice shaking slightly. "He started coughing, and he got weaker. He must have known that he did not have much time left, and he must have been concerned how I would take his loss. So he reminded me of a story he had told me, about a girl called Little Lotte, who liked music and singing as much as I did, and who was visited by an angel in her sleep, an angel, who sang to her and made her more comfortable, whose beautiful voice made her forget all the sorrows of her daily life and let her soul experience happiness, at least in her dreams. It was the Angel of Music."

Erik looked at her, startled. "The Angel of Music," he whispered. Somehow this sounded familiar to him. She probably had told him this story before, but – why would he have remembered such a childish story? Was there some deeper meaning to it that he did not quite understand just yet?

A wave of hope filled Christine, when she noticed Erik's agitation as she mentioned the angel he had impersonated for her for so many years. Was it possible that her words were about to make him remember?

"Yes, the Angel of Music," she repeated. "My father promised to send me that angel once he'd be in Heaven, so that I would not be so alone, that his music would comfort me and make me forget my sorrows. And he did," she told Erik. "He sent you to me, and you became my Angel of Music."


	13. Angel of Music

Hi everybody,

thank you for all the wonderful reviews! I am sorry that it took a bit longer than planned, but here is the next chapter. Remember, I still don't own anything or anybody.

On a different note: have you all signed the petition? If not, please do. Especially the point about deleting stories that are inspired by songs sounds bad to me. Here in POTO-fandom, about 90% of the stories probably are. We use quotes from the shows as titles and we do quote. While I do understand that probably has copyright-concerns, I do think that these quotes add to the authenticity of our stories and I would not want to have to make do without them. So please sign!

Chapter 12 – Angel of Music

Erik rose to his feet, his temper flaring. "How can you say something like that!" he roared at Christine. "How can you pretend I have been an angel to you! Have you forgotten this?" He pointed to the right side of his face, which was safely hidden from her view by the wide brim of his hat. "I am not the butt of your jokes," he continued, "nobody would mistake me for an angel!"

Christine smiled happily. She felt all warm and fuzzy inside at seeing Erik lose his temper. "You are still the same," she whispered. "You have not changed a bit. It is so refreshing to know that you still get angry as easily as you used to." It was so good to know that the memory loss had not affected Erik's personality. Now Christine did not understand any longer how she ever could have been afraid of his temper. She comprehended now that it was a defense mechanism of sorts, that whenever he felt threatened because of his face, he lashed out. It had been that way every time she had pulled off his mask.

Christine rose to her feet as well and put her small hand on Erik's shoulder. "I apologize," she said, "I should have known that you might misunderstand. After all, I know how sensitive you are about your face. Please believe me that no disrespect was intended."

Erik slowly turned to her. He was confused. Her reaction to his outburst was the complete opposite of what he had expected. She did not run screaming, she actually apologized and she was smiling at him as if… At the sight of her beautiful smile Erik relaxed. How could he resist her when she looked at him like that?

"I apologize for my behavior," he finally managed to mumble and Christine's smile deepened. "Accepted," she said. "Now let's sit down again, so that I can explain to you, why I thought you were an angel."

Erik nodded and obediently sat down again. He was curious now. This Christine-girl sounded so sincere, as if she meant what she was saying. As if, at some point in her life, she had really thought him to be an angel. He was still at a total loss, though, how anybody could feel that way about him. An angel – with a face like that? Surely the idea was ridiculous.

"As I said, my dear father died, when I was only seven years old," Christine explained. "Since I had no living relatives who could have taken me in, my father had determined that I should live at the Opera Populaire, in the ballet dormitories, and train to be a dancer one day."

Erik frowned. Something she had just said sounded familiar. "The Opera in Paris," he murmured, "Nadir once mentioned I worked there before my accident, and it was there that I got injured, during a fire."

Christine closed her eyes to hide her surprise. She almost laughed out loud. Worked there! Indeed, in a way one could probably call it that, and she had a feeling that then Erik had considered his manipulations to be "work". But she was glad she knew now what Nadir had told Erik about his time at the Opera.

Christine nodded. "Well, yes, I guess you worked there," she said cautiously, "You see, I did not meet you at once, I met the other girls and the ballet mistress," she side-glanced at Erik again, to see if this comment had jogged a memory, but could not detect any signs of recognition.

"It was all so new for me," Christine continued. "I was used to freedom, to traveling around with my papa, now I was forced into a strict routine. I had to exercise and work out, and I was so miserable. Losing my father was hard enough, having nobody anymore who cared for me, but having to adjust to this totally different lifestyle made things even harder for me."

She looked up at Erik. "Can you imagine how it feels to be totally alone? Nobody there who cares if you live or die, nobody who is interested in your problems, nobody who would be willing to help you, comfort you? It is hard enough for a grown-up," she continued with a sigh, "and I was only seven years old."

Erik looked at her uneasily. He was not sure why, but her story had touched him on a very deep level, as if he could somehow relate to the way she might have felt as a seven-year-old orphan, as if his childhood, too, had been a lonely and miserable one. As if he, too, had had to go on without a parent's love.

"I think I do," Erik finally admitted. "It must be like when you wish your mother would kiss you, and she never does…" Then he shook his head. He wondered why he had said that. Was that what his own childhood had been like? A mother denying him her love – because of his birth defect?

Christine smiled at him warmly. "Yes," she said, "you understand. That is, back then, you were the only one who understood." She considered for a moment inching a bit closer to him, then decided not to. He was finally starting to open up to her, she would not ruin this by rushing things.

"You see, there was this little chapel at the Opera," she continued. "Among others, there also was a small commemorative plaque for my father, nothing fancy, just his name and a picture. I therefore used to go to that chapel whenever I had a bit of time to myself, light a candle for my dear papa, look at his picture and talk to him."

Christine paused, waiting if her description of the chapel would trigger yet another memory from Erik. When he remained silent, Christine went on. "I usually told my father how much I missed him, how miserable I was in the ballet, and I begged him to come back to me, or to at least send me that angel he had promised me, the Angel of Music."

Erik nodded in understanding. "You needed somebody to comfort you," he stated flatly. "You were only seven years old and you could not cope with the situation alone."

Christine smiled. "Exactly. That's what you must have thought, when one day you overheard me in the chapel talking to my father, asking him why he had not sent the angel yet."

Erik began to see where this was leading. "You asked for your angel and then you saw me and mistook me for him?" he asked anxiously.

Christine laughed. "Not quite," she told him. "I still don't know where you were," she said a bit vaguely, "probably out in the corridor, or an adjacent room, but you must have heard me and you must have felt my need for comfort, for you talked to me – through the wall."

"Through the wall…" Erik whispered, his mouth agape. "You did not see me…"

Christine shook her head. "No, I could not see you. I only suddenly heard a voice talking to me. A disembodied voice, seemingly coming from nowhere. It was the most beautiful, melodious, soothing voice I had ever heard," she blushed a deep shade of crimson. Oh, how she loved her angel's voice, and how she longed to hear him talk to her like that again, so full of understanding, acceptance, love. "The voice of an angel," she whispered, embarrassed.

Erik was intrigued now. "You thought I was an angel because you could not see me?" he asked. "You thought it was some sort of miracle that you heard a voice when nobody was in the room with you?"

Christine nodded. "Yes. But keep in mind how young I was. When you talked to me like that, trying to comfort me, I thought that my father had truly sent me the Angel of Music, and I suddenly felt so safe. My father had not forgotten me after all, he had kept his promise, and now I had the angel to watch over me and protect me."

Erik frowned. "I did not contradict you and tell you the truth?" Christine shook her head. She remembered only too clearly that it had been Erik himself who had started this misunderstanding by introducing himself as the angel sent by her father. Yes, he had deceived her, but he had done it for both their sakes. Because of his face.

"No," she told Erik. "You probably sensed that I needed somebody, but you must have feared that I would not trust you because…" her voice trailed ad she bit her lip. She really did not want to bring up his face right now. "What I mean is that you felt you might be better able to comfort me if I thought you were an angel," she continued, a bit awkwardly, but Erik nodded.

"That makes sense," he admitted. "A seven-year-old seeing my face would never have trusted me."

Christine heard the bitterness in his voice, and her heart went out to him. "Maybe, maybe not," she said evenly. "Be that as it may, you truly became my angel. From that day on we met regularly. That is, of course we did not really meet face to face," she added hastily, "we talked through walls. You were always there for me when I needed somebody, you listened to all my little everyday-problems, you gave me sound advice in more cases than one." She looked at Erik lovingly. "My angel was the most important person in my life then," she confessed. "And under his guidance, and encouraged by his own beautiful singing, I finally started to sing again myself."

Erik stared at her. "Did you just say that I… your angel… sang to you?" he asked incredulously.

Christine laughed. "Of course you did," she said, "how else would you have convinced me that you truly were the Angel of Music?" Then realization hit her. "You don't know…" she whispered. "Oh my God, Erik, has Nadir not told you that you are a most gifted musician? You play several instruments, you sing heavenly and you compose the most wonderful music!"

Erik sat there in shock. "Music," he gasped, while images of music scribbled down on staff paper, of a flute and violin, a huge pipe organ, assaulted his mind, mixed with wondrous sounds and melodies that all seemed somehow familiar. Just like he had known he could design buildings when Nadir had mentioned that fact to him three years ago, he knew now on an instinctive level that Christine was telling the truth, that indeed he was a musician as well as an architect, and that he mastered all these instruments, was a decent singer and knew enough about music theory to be able to compose impressive music.

"I can express myself easily through music," Erik stated flatly. Christine nodded, fighting back tears. To think that her angel had been without music for the past three years, had not even known how important it had always been to him!

"You spoke to me through songs," she confirmed. "You reminded me what a great comfort music can be, how it can sooth your troubled mind and bring you peace." She smiled through tears, looked at Erik and asked shyly, "I have not heard you sing in such a long time, would you… I mean… if you don't mind…"

Erik looked puzzled. He wanted to tell her that he did not remember any songs, that his voice was probably rusty, that she could not possibly expect him to sing to her like that, when his mouth opened almost automatically and a beautiful melody poured out.

Christine immediately recognized the song. It was a Swedish lullaby her father had taught her. It also was the first song she had been able to sing again, once she had gotten over the grief for her father with the help of her angel. She hesitantly joined in, well aware that her singing would not be up to Erik's standards after her long break, but too overwhelmed by her feelings to care. Their two voices seemed attuned to each other, they complemented each other, and once the song was finished, they looked at each other, faces flushed with excitement.

"That was beautiful," Christine breathed, "just like in the old days…" A tiny smile played across the visible part of Erik's face and caused Christine's heart to beat faster. How endearing he looked when he smiled!

"Your voice is truly magnificent," Erik finally said, "though your technique leaves a lot to be desired," and he began to tell her a few things that he thought needed improvement.

Far from being disappointed by Erik's criticism, Christine beamed. Her angel was teaching her again, giving her advice how to make her voice perfect again. And he had remembered the song.

"Oh Angel," she whispered, inadvertently reverting to the old name, "I have missed your teaching so much!"

"Teaching?" Erik was at a loss again. Had he taught her something?

Christine smiled at him. "Of course. Who else could have taught me how to sing if not the angel? My Angel of Music!"

Erik tried to make sense of what she had just told him. "Are you trying to tell me that I gave you singing lessons?" he asked. "Surely that was much later? A seven-year-old's voice is not sufficiently developed yet. Some basics, yes, breathing technique and such, but real singing?" He interrupted himself. "You do mean singing as in opera, don't you?" he added, uncertainly.

Christine nodded. "Yes, you gave me singing lessons, when I was old enough, and yes, we are talking about operatic singing. You were a wonderful teacher, you made me reach high notes that I did not know were possible to sing and you told me how to sing the most difficult pieces. But you told me much more than that, history of music, theory of music, a bit Italian, since many operas are written in that language.."

Erik listened to her, drinking in all the new information. Yes, it made sense that he would have taught her all these things. If she was planning to have a career as prima donna – and she definitely had the voice to succeed in that profession – she would need to know all that stuff.

"But surely by then you knew that I was not an angel?" Erik finally asked. Somehow it did not seem practical at all to conduct all these lessons through walls.

Christine shook her head. "Oh no, what do you think?" she exclaimed. "I didn't know the truth for about ten years." She blushed. "It may seem naïve, and I probably was a bit of an ingénue, but it never occurred to me that my angel might be a mere mortal."

Erik gave her a surprised look. "But surely with time you met everybody at the Opera Populaire. You must have run into me at one point or another. Wouldn't you have recognized my voice?"

Christine hesitated. She did not have the heart to tell Erik that he had not been an employee at the opera, but the mysterious entity who had haunted the theater and manipulated the managers by the means of threats ad blackmail. "I am not sure how," she finally said, "but I don't think we ever met, or if we did, you probably did not speak in my presence. I only ever talked to you through walls."

Erik seemed to accept her explanation. It seemed to him that it made sense that he would not have risked this apparently close and precious friendship with the aspiring young soprano by revealing himself to her in all his ugliness. He had probably done his best to stay out of her way. It was of course fortunate that she had been so naïve and not seen through the charade sooner, so he must have been able to cultivate this friendship for many years, a friendship which seemed to mean a lot to her as well. Then he remembered something.

"But you said that you have seen…," he pointed to the right side of his face. "This abomination," he added, his voice sounding raw with despair and hopelessness. "So at one point you must have known the truth. How? When?"

Christine was beginning to feel awkward. How could she tell Erik that he had taken her to his underground home? Surely he would realize that she - and Nadir as well - had left out a huge chunk of the story. How would he react to that revelation? Would the fragile trust that she had managed to establish between them suffer from it?

"I was beginning to sense… to hope… that my angel was not an angel," she confessed, blushing an even deeper shade of crimson. "I was wishing that he were not. That he were a man." She looked away from Erik, hiding her embarrassment. Had she said too much? Had he guessed that she had longed for her angel to be a man who would love her and whom she could love in return? "I kept asking my angel to show himself to me," she whispered. "I wanted a real – friendship." She bit her lip. She had almost said "relationship". But Erik had not given her any indication yet that he still thought of her in that way, and she could not throw herself at him like that. That would be undignified and highly inappropriate. Especially for a divorced woman like her.

"Then I had my debut performance," Christine continued. "We were performing "Hannibal" by Chalumeau. I…" she hesitated again. She was not going to tell Erik that he had thrown a piece of scenery at the leading soprano so that Christine could take over. "The prima donna was indisposed," she explained, "and I was allowed to step in. So I sang the role of Elyssa that night." She smiled at the memory of the applause. "It was a huge success. For both of us. You had taught me well and I had made the most of your teachings."

Erik stared ahead. "Think of me," he whispered, "think of me fondly, when we've said good-bye…"

Christine nodded. "Yes, that was my big aria, and the applause afterwards was deafening." Erik jumped up. The song had made him solve yet another puzzle. "Wait here," he said. "I have to show you something." Then he ran into the house, to his desk, where he had stored the drawing of her that he had made this morning. He had a feeling that he now knew when she had looked the way he had drawn her.

A little bit out of breath, Erik returned to the garden a few minutes later. He held his drawing out to Christine. "Elyssa?" he blurted out. "Is that what it is? Your debut performance?"

Christine looked at the picture, then at Erik. "Yes, that's definitely the way I had my hair done for Elyssa," she said slowly. "Where did you get this?"

Now it was Erik's time to blush. "I drew it," he stammered. "This morning. My subconscious mind must have guided my pencil, for when I was finished, I did not know.. I only realized now, when you mentioned your debut…"

Christine's face lit up in a radiant smile. "Your memories are coming back," she whispered. "The knowledge was buried deep within your mind, but now you remember it again."


	14. Tea Time

I must apologize once again for the delay. I am not promising anything, but *maybe* the next chapter will come online around the mid of next week. *Maybe*.

Just remember that I don't own anything or anybody.

Chapter 13 – Tea Time

At that moment, Nadir appeared. "So, how is it going?" he asked, "are the two of you getting reacquainted?"

Erik was starting to feel angry again. This interruption came at a most inconvenient point. He had just realized that he had drawn Christine's debut performance from memory, and he was about to learn how Christine had finally found out the truth about him and seen his face. He was ready to explode and to tell Nadir to mind his own business, when Christine's voice made him relax.

"Yes, Monsieur Khan," Christine said, beaming, "We have renewed our friendship, and imagine, Erik is beginning to remember bits and pieces!" She looked at her angel lovingly, before she continued, "he just showed me this drawing of me, which he did this morning. It shows me at my debut performance. He did it, before he even knew I had been a singer at the Opera Populaire, or that he had taught me how to sing. The buried memory must have reasserted itself somehow. Now, when I mentioned 'Hannibal' and my role as Elyssa, he knew what the drawing meant."

Christine turned to Erik and gave him a radiant smile. "I am certain that this is a good sign," she told him. "You are most likely beginning to make real progress, and it cannot be long now, before you will regain your full memory."

Erik smiled. Christine's confidence was contagious, and her joy at seeing his condition improving was sincere. She definitely did care about him. But what exactly was the nature of her feelings? Did she see him as a teacher, mentor, father figure, friend, or….

Erik closed his eyes to clear his mind. No, it was not possible that this lovely, young woman might see him as a man, a potential love interest. He should not get his hopes up in that regard. He must keep in mind that no matter what his own heart wanted, he would never be able to win the love of somebody like her. If he tried to court her, he would be setting himself up for a heart-breaking disappointment, and, worse, he would make things awkward for her. He had only spent a short time with this Christine-girl, his former voice student, yet he already knew what made her tick and that it would greatly upset her having to turn him down. She would not want to hurt him, yet she would have to, in order to pursue her own life, with somebody at her side that was more her age and looked like a human being, not like a demon from hell.

Nadir's voice brought Erik back to the presence. "Erik, that's great," the former daroga said. "I know how much it has hurt you that you do not remember your past, but as Miss Daaé just said, there is reason to believe that your condition may finally be improving. You may soon regain your full memory!"

A tiny smile played across the visible part of Erik's face. Only now did he realize the importance of the fact that he had drawn Christine from memory. "I did remember," he whispered, enthralled by that thought, "deep down I knew about this production of 'Hannibal' and when I thought about Christine, I remembered her in a moment of shared triumph…" He frowned, then looked at Christine and whispered, "my spirit and your voice in one combined…"

Christine nodded, radiant with joy. "That's how we both felt that night," she told Erik, "that together we had achieved something wonderful. Your spirit, your teachings, had helped my voice to reach the level of perfection that allowed me to take on such a major role."

She blushed under Erik's adoring gaze and looked down. Oh, the happy memories of that night! Her triumph on stage, meeting Raoul again after all those years, and finally, meeting her angel and being introduced to the wonders of his world. She sighed. It had also been the night, when she realized that her loving, caring angel was no other than the famous Opera Ghost, who terrorized the whole theater. And it was the night of her first betrayal, the night when she had ripped off his mask for the first time.

Nadir noticed her embarrassment. He knew that part of it was caused by being reunited with Erik again. It was obvious to Nadir that the young woman was deeply in love with Erik. Her shy nervousness around his friend, her frequent blushing, her furtive glances at Erik were sure signs that she wanted nothing more than for Erik to remember his feelings for her and to act on them. But Nadir also realized that this slightly awkward situation was not the only reason for Christine's uneasiness. He understood her only too well, since he shared that uneasiness with her. They were both worried about Erik. What if he truly remembered? How would he react when he finally knew about his ignominious past at the Opera – and worse, in Persia. How would this knowledge affect Erik, and would he understand that they had withheld part of the truth from him, because they wanted to protect him? Would he be able to forgive them for telling him half-truths, for making him believe that he was an honorable citizen? How would he take the fact that he was a wanted criminal?

After a few minutes of a slightly awkward silence, where each of the three pursued their own thoughts, Erik addressed Nadir. "I am a musician," he stated. "I play several instruments and I compose. I am apparently so good at music that Christine here at one point mistook me for an angel, the angel of music."

Nadir smiled a bit uneasily. "So I've heard," he finally uttered. Erik stared at him. "Why?" he asked, his voice shaking. "Why did you not tell me? Now that I know, I am certain that music has always been rather important to me, has helped me deal with difficult situations. With music I can work away frustration by playing wild, fast-paced pieces, I can express myself and let off steam. You must have known that. Why did you keep this means of dealing with my problems away from me?"

Nadir swallowed. There it was, the moment he had feared, the moment, when Erik would remember things that he, Nadir, had chosen not to tell him, when Erik would ask him to justify this neglect. "I thought," Nadir began, trying to stall for time and thinking hard at the same time how to answer Erik's question. He knew pretty well, why he had not mentioned music. Even though in a way he wanted Erik to remember his past, he had hoped Erik would remember on his own. Nadir definitely had not wanted to be the one to tell Erik about the horrors of his past, and while music per se was a harmless thing to remember, in Nadir's opinion it was too closely related to both, Erik's time as the Opera Ghost, and to his unrequited love for Christine. Mentioning music had therefore definitely not seemed a good idea at any point of these past three years. The situation with Christine had changed in the meantime, though, but even so Nadir was reluctant to bring it up. He had a feeling that Christine had not yet had time to tell Erik everything about their relationship, and in his opinion these two would have to resolve their differences themselves, his interference could possibly hurt more than help.

"Because of me." Christine's words made both men look at her. Christine blushed with embarrassment. "Please, don't blame your friend, Angel," she pleaded with Erik. "You see, he knew that you had taught the new prima donna Christine Daaé and that we had had a certain friendship. But he did not know me personally, he had only seen me on stage. After the fire, the employees of the Opera were all going their own ways, and he may have lost track of me." Christine cleared her throat, embarrassed. Fat chance that Nadir would have lost track of her. News of her engagement and impending nuptials had been all over Paris at that time. She felt awkward and decided that she would have to tell Erik the truth soon, namely that Nadir had hoped to keep Erik from remembering her betrayal and his heart-break.

"I think that Monsieur Khan feared that reminding you of music might make you remember me and ask for me, because of our close previous friendship, and since he could not bring me to you, should you ask for me…" Christine bit her lip. At least that last part was true. Under no circumstances would Nadir have been able to go to the de Chagny-mansion, and not knowing how she truly felt about Erik – something she herself had not been fully aware of at that time – he would not have bothered going there and talking to her, even if he could have done so.

Erik nodded slowly. Even though he had not remembered this slip of a girl until he saw her in the front yard of her home two nights ago, he already was painfully aware of the fact that she owned his heart. Her presence soothed him in a way he had never thought possible. It was almost a miracle, how one word from her, one friendly gaze, or the touch of her little hand could calm his rising anger, as he had noticed two or three times this afternoon already. It most definitely made sense to him that it would have made him very unhappy, if he had remembered her, but not been able to see her, talk to her. And since it was rather likely that the memory of his music might have also made him remember this girl, this desirable woman, this…. "She was your student," Erik reminded himself. "Nothing more. You are her teacher, a father figure, keep that in mind. She is way too young for you, and way too lovely to fall for somebody like you. She belongs with beauty and youth, not with the likes of you."

Embarrassed of his desires for a loving relationship with his former pupil, Erik made himself concentrate on the current conversation again and turned to Nadir. "You wanted to protect me," he stated flatly. Nadir nodded, grateful that Christine had been able to sort of explain why he had not reminded Erik of his music.

Then Nadir looked at Christine. "The reason why I came looking for the two of you," he said brightly, thus changing the topic, "is that tea is ready. I bet you are both hungry and thirsty."

Erik and Christine looked at each other. Neither of them had been thinking of food, but now that Nadir mentioned it, they both realized that they were, indeed, hungry. But even more than food they both wanted a chance to continue their conversation. Erik wanted to learn about the circumstances when she had finally seen his face and how she had reacted to his revelations, while Christine wanted nothing more than to confess to Erik her betrayal and ask for his forgiveness.

Nadir smiled at them. "I know," he said, "there is so much more for the two of you to discuss after all this time, but we cannot send Miss Christine home hungry, and she cannot stay here that much longer, if we do not want to completely ruin her reputation. In fact," he continued, looking at Erik, "it is already verging on inappropriate that she came here alone, without a chaperone, and only the fact that you once were kind of her guardian makes this situation at least somewhat acceptable. If the two of you want to meet again, I highly recommend that next time, you also invite Miss Christine's foster mother, who is also an old acquaintance of yours. But we can discuss these things over tea…"

With that he lead the way to a little terrace, where Darius had prepared the tea table. Erik looked at Christine. He knew that the polite thing to do was offering her his arm and lead her to the table, but would she take his arm? Would she want such close contact with a freak like him?

Erik cleared his throat before hesitantly addressing Christine. "Would you mind…," he began, "I mean, may I offer you my arm?" He looked at her nervously. Christine's face lit up. How she had waited for him to say something like that, to give her a chance to snuggle up to him a bit!

"My pleasure," she said happily, took Erik's arm and nestled against his side. She felt him stiffen, but did not care. It felt so right to cling to him like that, as if this were the place where she was meant to be – by his side. "Please, make him forgive me, please let me win his love again, that love that I once scorned and walked away from, and that I will regret till the day I die, if I cannot put things right between us again," she prayed, while she followed Erik to the tea table.

Xxx

Tea time passed rather uneventfully. Nadir's presence kept both, Erik and Christine, from discussing their relationship – past or present –, and thus the conversation became a bit stilted. Erik announced that he wanted to buy a violin and a piano as soon as possible, since now, that he remembered his talent for music, he missed music terribly and wanted nothing more than to play again.

Christine was thrilled with Erik's plan to acquire instruments. She wanted to ask him to help her with her singing and to retrain her voice, which would certainly be much easier, if he had the means to accompany her. Nadir also approved of this "musicalization of their home", as he jokingly put it. Apart from the undeniably therapeutic effect that music would have on Erik, just like Christine, he, too, hoped that music would bring these two star-crossed lovers closer together once again. In his opinion it would be best for them to grow very close before Erik fully remembered. Things might go smoother that way. While Nadir had no doubts that love would win out in the end, he had a feeling that it would be more difficult for Erik to trust Christine, if he remembered her betrayal before he had fully accepted her love for him.

Then it was time to say good-bye. Nadir offered to escort Christine home. "Unless you want to do it," he told Erik. Erik hesitated. On one hand he wanted nothing more than a chance to be with Christine for a few more moments, but on the other hand, this would mean leaving the protection of their home, while there still was daylight outside, thus risking potential exposure. He finally shook his head. "I cannot," he mumbled. "I cannot go out. Maybe one day I will have the courage, but not yet." He looked at Christine. "You do understand," he asked pleadingly, "don't you?"

Christine smiled bravely. She would have hoped that Erik would bring her home, but she understood his reasons. Considering how awkwardly he had behaved at her arrival, she had a pretty good idea how the thought of maybe encountering one or two of their neighbors on the way might affect him. It was too much for one day. She could not ask this of him. She had to content herself with the progress they had already made.

"I do understand, Angel," she whispered. Then she looked up at him and asked, "when will I see you again?"

Erik fidgeted nervously. He wanted to say that he hoped she would be able to come over again tomorrow, but certainly she would not want to see him that often? "Maybe, once I have my new piano?" he finally suggested, glancing at Nadir for advice. "We could then sing together…"

Christine smiled at him. "I would like that very much," she assured Erik. "In fact, I was going to ask you to help me with my singing again…." Erik's face fell. Of course, her singing. She needed his guidance again. That was why she put up with him, the hideous monster.

Nadir sighed. Erik was obviously determined to misunderstand even the most harmless comment. Christine definitely had her work cut out for her. It would not be easy at all to convince his stubborn friend that his love was reciprocated.

"In that case, I will have to make sure that we soon get a piano," he tried to defuse the tension. Then he addressed Erik. "Have you thought about what I mentioned earlier?" he asked, "about Miss Christine needing a chaperone? Do you think you can deal with meeting yet another one of your old acquaintances? Can I tell Antoinette Giry that you are ready to see her as well?"

Erik stared at him. "Antoinette…" he murmured, while the face of a young girl appeared before his mind's eye. She was holding his hand, and he was a small boy, probably a bit younger than her, wearing nothing but tattered shorts. She was pulling him along, towards a huge building, they were running, running from something or somebody, he needed to hide, and she showed him how to enter the basement through a window. She saved him.

"Antoinette," he repeated. "She hid me when we were children, she protected me." Then he looked at Christine, puzzled. "Is she your foster mother? How did you meet her?"

Christine smiled. She knew the story about how Mme. Giry had helped Erik escape from the gypsies, her foster mother had told her all she knew about Erik, when Christine had gone to her for help after Raoul had cast her out. Christine had a feeling, Mme. Giry would be pleased to hear that Erik had remembered that bit about their relationship.

"Yes, she is my foster mother," Christine finally replied, "and she has told me about how she helped you when you both were children. I met her during my time at the Opera Populaire." She scanned the visible part of Erik's face for a sign of recognition, then added hesitantly, "she was the ballet mistress there."


	15. Conspiracy

Sorry, I am a bit later than I thought I would be, but I was so utterly exhausted that I only got half the chapter done by Wednesday evening. Thank you all for your patience, and thank you for your wonderful reviews and continued support! It means a lot to me.

Oh, and I still don't own anything or anybody

Chapter 14 – Conspiracy

Erik closed his eyes and conjured up the fleeting memory of the ballet mistress he had had the day before when Nadir had told him about Christine. A rather stern-looking woman with a long braid. He had not made the connection until Nadir had mentioned it, but now he realized that she was indeed the same person as the girl who had saved him so many years ago.

"That's right," he finally whispered, "Antoinette worked at the Opera Populaire as well." He frowned at Christine. "She knew?" he asked slowly. "That it was I who spoke to you through walls and taught you how to sing? She knew that you thought I was the Angel of Music?"

Christine nodded. "She always knew," she confirmed. "She obviously approved of our friendship. She did not have a problem with you passing yourself off as the angel sent by my father or me believing you to be such an otherworldly character. I think she understood that I needed your comfort and that you were better able to give it to me that way, that I would trust you more easily if I thought my father had sent you to me."

Erik was puzzled. How could Antoinette have allowed that charade? Maybe at first the orphaned girl had needed him, but later on? Had Antoinette not realized how lovely, how utterly desirable her young charge had become? Had she not realized, that despite his hideous face he was a man with the same longings and desires – the same _needs_ – as other men? Had she really thought it wise to allow continued close contact between him and her foster daughter once Christine had turned into a woman?

"She probably does not think of you as a man," he thought. "Antoinette apparently thinks you are this genderless being, because your face is not that of a man. She therefore must have thought Christine to be safe with you." While this thought saddened him, Erik knew deep down that Antoinette's trust had not been misplaced after all. No matter how much he desired Christine, how much his whole body screamed for her, he would never ever, under no circumstances whatsoever force her in any way, shape or form. He would never ask anything of her that she would not be able to give willingly.

Then Erik remembered that Christine had asked him to help her retrain her voice. He wanted very much to do so, but he was also aware that he would need Antoinette's approval, since Christine was in her care. He needed to make Antoinette understand that even under the changed circumstances Christine was still safe with him, that he still could be trusted to treat her with the respect a gentleman owed a lady. He therefore needed to see her and talk to her – and he realized that he also _wanted_ to see her again.

"I think I will be able to see Antoinette," Erik finally mumbled. "Please tell her to expect an invitation once we have our piano." Then he turned to Christine. "Good-bye," he said, trying to sound calm. "We can start with your voice lessons, once my piano will have been delivered."

Christine looked at him. "Good-bye," she whispered softly, furtively glancing up at Erik's face – or, rather, at the visible part of it. His voice had sounded so calm. Almost distant, cool. As if he did not care for her anymore after all. But when she caught the adoring look for her that quickly passed over his features, she inwardly sighed with relief. She knew now that her angel still loved her. That it was just his unease with their current situation that caused him to keep his distance, that there still was a chance that she might be able to put things right again.

Xxxx

Once on the way, Christine addressed Nadir. "I understand why you did not tell him the truth," she stated. "I only reached the night of my debut in my recounting of our past history together, and yet, I already left out so much. I did not tell him that he was the Opera Ghost and I did not tell him that he had introduced himself to me as the Angel of Music. I let him believe that he was an employee of the Opera and that I had assumed he was the angel and he just did not contradict me. I have no idea how I will be able to tell him the rest. He seems so vulnerable now, I fear it will be a big shock to him when he learns about Buquet." She shuddered at the memory of the stagehand's corps dropping from the rafters onto the stage during an ill-fated performance of "Il Muto".

"Carlotta croaking, the chandelier, Piangi, Raoul…" Christine continued to list events, which she thought might cause Erik a lot of discomfort to remember. "How do you tell him about such things?"

Nadir nodded. "I have been thinking the exact same thing," he confessed. "Namely, that Erik will be taking those facts very hard, no matter how he learns about them, whether it is us telling him or him remembering." He sighed. "And there is a lot more that you probably are not aware of, which will haunt him till the day he dies, should he ever remember. There are things in his past, that for his sake, I hope he will never remember, though I guess he eventually will. Now that he has shown first signs of improvement, it is likely that with time, he will regain his full memory, and only Allah in his Paradise knows, how Erik will react then, how he will deal with the horrors of his past."

Christine fought back tears. How much her poor angel must have been through in his life, what terrible experiences he must have made that had lead him to commit the atrocities Nadir had hinted at, and on top of all those horrors Nadir just had mentioned she had hurt Erik so badly. How utterly miserable Erik's life must have been so far!

Suddenly it was as if a cold hand grabbed Christine's heart and squeezed it tightly. A terrible thought had just crossed her mind. "Do you think..," she began hesitantly. "I mean, is it possible that he.. that Erik will…. that he might hurt himself, once he realizes who he has been?" Nadir stiffened. He knew exactly what she was hinting at, and he had to admit that the same fear had troubled him as well.

"I hope not," he finally uttered. "I like to think that he will be strong enough to accept his past. Also, now, with you and Mme. Giry here, if we all join forces and show him our love and support, things might be a bit easier for him. My friendship alone might not have been enough, but with the two of you to assist me, we may be able to get him over the worst. We just have to stick together and give him our love, friendship, acceptance, to be there for him, when the time comes and he remembers everything, to form some kind of safety net that will catch him, when he falls, when his past becomes too overwhelming for him."

Christine sighed. "I wish I could spare him this," she said, "but I know that our relationship only stands a chance if it is built upon truth and honesty. Erik needs to remember his own past and my betrayal, before the healing process can begin."

Nadir squeezed her hand. "That is the right attitude," he told her. "I know that you will be able to help him through the worst if you feel that way. There will always remain some lingering regret, for he won't be able to undo his past, but by showing him our acceptance, we may be able to help him accept himself."

A faint smile crossed Christine's features. "Erik has done a lot of bad things," she mumbled, "but I do not think that he is a bad person. He has always been so kind to me, so caring and supportive, when I was a child. Of course he was strict during my voice lessons, but then, that's what made him such a good teacher. I never would have learned half as much had he been more relenting."

Nadir agreed. "He has a kind, caring heart," he said. "Without his deformity he would probably have been a very nice and loving person. But he was confronted with rejection and abuse at a very early age, he never knew kindness or love. He has a very low opinion of himself because of this birth defect and as a consequence he would have needed more love rather than less right from the start, but unfortunately his mother failed him completely in that regard. Then his experiences with the gypsies…" Nadir shook his head. "It is no wonder that he retaliated to the world and its cruelties the only way he knew – with violence, cruelty and anger. He fought back in order to survive."

Nadir remained silent for a few moments before he continued. "But when he regained consciousness for the first time after his accident, when he did not even remember his deformity, it was like a new beginning for him. This time he did not have to deal with rejection and abuse, I gave him my friendship and showed him acceptance, and my servant Darius supported me in this. So when Erik finally learned about his handicap, he already knew that he was loved. Thus he could become the valuable member of society that he is today, but he is still very reclusive. I am fairly certain he has not talked to anybody other than me and Darius and now you, since he recovered from his injuries. Apparently he fears contact with other people. His subconscious seems to remember all the hatred and rejection he has suffered. I do not know if he will ever gain the confidence to interact with others, and things might get harder for him once he remembers everything."

Christine listened attentively. What Nadir said made sense to her. "If only Erik can learn to trust me again, once he remembers," she whispered. "I know that he needs all the love in the world to make it up to him for what he has suffered and I so wish that I can make him feel loved and wanted."

Nadir smiled at her. "I am sure that if you really want this, you will be able to teach Erik happiness," he said softly.

In the meantime they had reached cottage number twelve and Nadir took leave of Christine, promising that he would keep her informed on the progress of the planned acquisition of a piano. "Erik is probably preparing a list of things right now that I need to pay attention to when choosing a suitable instrument," he said smiling, "so that I will know what to look for, what questions to ask etc. once I go to the music shop tomorrow." Then he turned more serious. "I know that you want to see Erik again soon, and he is just as anxious to meet you again. You will also both want to start your singing lessons. I will therefore do my best to hurry things up and see to it that Erik gets his piano as soon as possible."

Christine nodded. "Erik needs his music," she stated, "I am sure that a piano will be of great help to him. He will be able to express himself and deal with his emotions through music." She held her hand out to Nadir who raised it to his lips and gently kissed it. "Good-bye, Miss Christine," he said softly, making her feel as if they were conspirators. Conspirators with the main goal of helping Erik to accept himself, his deformity and his past, but also to fulfill his true potential and to live the normal life he had always dreamed of.

Xxx

Mme. Giry had spent the afternoon in a rather nervous mood. Meg had been called back to the Opera for a second audition as ballerina, and Christine was meeting with Erik, who did not remember anything of their shared past. Mme. Giry hoped that everything would go well, that Meg would get hired, that Christine and Erik would finally end up together. But there were so many variables, so many things that could go wrong. Meg was an accomplished dancer, but what if for some reason or other the people in charge were looking for somebody taller or shorter – or with dark hair? Or for somebody with more of a comic talent?

And as to Christine and Erik – the possibilities of failure were endless. Erik's low self-esteem, Christine's feeling of guilt, Erik's memory loss, Christine's divorce, all these were reasons why their reunion could lead to disaster despite their love.

When Mme. Giry finally heard the front door, she ran out to meet whichever of her girls was coming home and get her news. The moment the front door had closed behind her, Christine lost her composure. She threw herself in her foster mother's open arms, crying and laughing at the same time.

"I love him so much," Christine sobbed, clinging to Mme. Giry. "Oh, you cannot imagine…"

The former ballet mistress hugged her close, rubbing her back, trying to comfort her. After a while Christine recovered enough that she could give a report of her meeting with Erik. She let Mme. Giry lead her into the parlor, sat down and began to tell her about her reunion with her Angel of Music.

"Erik is strong and healthy," she began. "But he did not let me see his face." Her voice was heavy with disappointment. "He is so … so insecure now," she explained. "He hid behind a wide-brimmed hat the whole time. I would have wanted so badly to prove to him that his face does not matter to me, but he did not let me. In fact, at first he was so ill at ease, he seemed at a total loss how to deal with me."

Mme. Giry looked concerned. That did not sound at all like the Erik she knew. Could he really be all right if he was so subdued now?

"It's because of his memory loss," Christine explained. "It must be extremely awkward having to talk to a person you have known for years but can't remember. To know that this person may know things about you that you don't remember yourself. But once I mentioned how lonely I had felt after my father's death, his empathy took over. He understood just as he had understood all those years ago. Except when I told him that he had been my Angel of Music, he got angry." Christine giggled at the memory. "It was like in the old times, he was lashing out and I calmed him down."

Christine looked at Mme. Giry. "He thought I had made an extremely poor joke calling him an angel," she explained. "He thought I was having fun at his expense. Because of his face." She cringed. "Why does it always have to come down to his face?" she asked exacerbated. "Erik is such a talented person, he can be so caring and understanding, why does he think that because of his face he is a lesser man? Why does he not get it that appearances are not everything?" For a fleeting moment Christine thought of her former husband. Raoul was certainly an attractive man, but he had not treated her too kindly. He had forced her to give up music, to forget about her friends, and when she had not been able to give him an heir he had cast her out.

Mme. Giry patted Christine's shoulder. "Erik has suffered a lot because of his face," she said calmly. "It is only natural that all the rejection and abuse he has encountered will have left scars on his psyche. It will not be easy to convince him that you do love him."

Christine sighed. "I know," she sobbed, "especially once he knows the truth about my betrayal." She looked up. "Erik is beginning to remember," she announced. "That is the good news. He drew a picture of me this morning, of my debut as Elyssa, and at that point he did not even know yet that I had been a singer. He drew it from memory. And he remembered you saving him from the gypsies. By the way, he has agreed to see you. We will be asked over to tea once Erik will have a piano," Christine explained. "He did not even know he was a musician, imagine, our Erik has gone without music for three years!"

Mme. Giry gasped. Erik without music? That idea was hard to grasp. "M. Khan thought it might remind Erik of me and my betrayal," Christine continued. "He therefore never mentioned music. He wanted to protect Erik. And he agrees with me that Erik will be shocked once he finds out about all the horrible things he has done." Her voice faltered and it took her a few moments before she could continue. "Buquet, the chandelier, Piangi, the Opera Ghost…"

Mme. Giry nodded. "He will need us then. He will need to see that we accept him and love him despite everything. It may not be easy for us to convince him of our friendship and love, but we will have to be there for him then, all of us, M. Khan as well."

Christine beamed. "That's exactly what M. Khan just told me on our way home," she said, "that the three of us will have to join forces and give Erik all our love, that together we will hopefully be able to get him through the worst."

Mme. Giry smiled. "We will most certainly do that. We should in fact have done that long ago, but I fear I failed Erik in that regard just as badly as you did. We can learn from our past mistakes, though, and this time we will do it right and be of real help to Erik."


	16. Piano

I realize I am late again. Sigh! When will I finally manage to update in a timely fashion? But I am reading all your reviews and I am very happy that you like this story so much. Thank you also to those of you that are reading my old stories now as well. I hope you like them!

Anyway, I still don't own … you know the routine. On to the next chapter!

Chapter 15 – Piano

A few days later, Nadir stopped by at the Giry cottage on his way home from the office. "Our piano will be delivered this very afternoon," he announced excitedly, "which means that the singing lessons can start tomorrow afternoon." He turned to Mme. Giry. "As Miss Christine has probably already informed you, Erik is asking you to accompany her."

Mme. Giry nodded. "Of course. I am looking forward very much to seeing Erik again, and it is certainly more appropriate if I am with Christine when she makes a visit in an all-male household."

Nadir smiled. "You know, I think Erik is looking forward to seeing you again as well. It will do him a lot of good to realize just how many people he has that care for him despite his deformity. In fact, I think that Miss Christine's recent visit has already boosted his self-esteem a bit. You wouldn't believe it, but he actually accompanied me into town last night to give his final approval on the piano I had chosen for him." He chuckled at the memory. "Now imagine the shop owner's surprise when Erik came in wearing this ridiculous hat of his, which he did not take off for the entire time we were there! I bet this merchant had the shock of his life. Or maybe not. There are a lot of rather eccentric people around in the upper class, so he may have had some unusual customers before. But the moment Erik started to play the first few notes he was in awe. Me too, to tell the truth. Erik may not have played the piano in three years, but he did not sound out of practice at all. It was wonderful. Brilliant technique and heart-felt interpretation."

Nadir sighed. "Maybe it was not right to keep him away from music for so long. I only wanted to protect him, but I may have been wrong."

Christine smiled at Nadir encouragingly. "I think Erik understands that you had his best interest in mind, and the important thing is that he has his music now. In a few hours he will have his piano and he will be able to play as long as he wants to."

Now it was Nadir's turn to smile. "Oh, I bet he has been playing all day," he said. "He bought a violin last night as well, which he took home immediately. When I left the house this morning, Erik was already playing on his new instrument." He gave Christine a meaningful look. "I think he was improvising, and the melody he played was full of longing…"

Christine blushed deeply. In order to give her time to compose herself again, Nadir turned to Mme. Giry. "It is agreed then, that the two of you will have tea with us tomorrow and that Miss Christine will have a singing lesson with Erik?"

Both ladies told him that they were happy to accept this kind invitation and asked him to give Erik their love, which Nadir promised to do.

Xxxx

The next afternoon, Mme. Giry and Christine went to their tea appointment with Erik and Nadir. This time, Erik answered the door and let them in. He was again wearing his hat and still a bit ill at ease, but his self-confidence had definitely improved since Christine's first visit.

Erik looked at his two female visitors. "Christine," he whispered, in awe that she had indeed come back for a second visit, then he turned to her companion. "Antoinette."

Mme. Giry was overwhelmed. To know that Erik was alive was one thing, but to actually see him and hear him speak was something else entirely. She suddenly realized how much she had missed him.

"Erik," she finally managed to say, "it is good to see you." Erik gazed at her. He did not remember much about this woman, but he knew that she had rescued him once, when they had been children, and that she was like a mother to Christine and had approved of their friendship. That she was so obviously touched to see him alive and well, impressed him. Was it possible that she, too, actually cared about him? For such a long time he had thought that Nadir and Darius were the only people that could stand his presence, and now it seemed as if he had a small group of friends.

"It… it is good to see you, too," Erik finally stammered, then, before he could think about it, a few more words escaped him. "You used to carry my letters," he stated, then stared. He had not remembered this fact before, but the moment he had said those words he knew he had spoken the truth.

Mme. Giry smiled. "Yes, I used to help you stay in touch with the world," she said vaguely, at the same time happy to see Erik remember yet another detail of his past and scared at the thought of how he would take it if he remembered what kind of messages she had delivered on his behalf.

At that moment Nadir appeared. He greeted the ladies, then suggested to proceed to the little terrace where Darius would be serving tea. "And then Erik and Miss Christine can try out the new piano with a voice lesson," he suggested. Erik and Christine looked at each other. They both thought that tea was a total waste of time, when a new piano was waiting for them and there were still so many things between them that needed to be clarified.

Neither Erik nor Christine talked much during tea, but a lot of furtive glances back and forth and Christine's frequent blushes made it quite clear to Nadir and Mme. Giry that they were in the way. Therefore, as soon as they had finished tea, Nadir offered to show Mme. Giry the garden.

"Miss Christine has seen that already during her previous visit," he explained. "Why do the two of you not go ahead and start the singing lesson?" he suggested to Erik. "We will join you later, once Mme. Giry has had time to admire our beautiful flowers and trees."

Erik gave Christine a nervous glance. Would she come with him? Would she want to be alone with him? To his relief, Christine beamed at him. "Please, Erik," she said, "show me the piano, and maybe we can sing a bit. I have missed music, too," she confessed, then, blushing deeply, she added, "and my Angel of Music."

Erik did not quite know how to reply, so he gave her a brief nod and told her to follow him to the parlor, which now doubled as a music room, since the new piano had been put there.

"We will have to do some warm-up first," Erik announced, sitting down in front of the piano, and he immediately began to play scales. Christine obliged and started to sing along. After only a few notes, Erik interrupted her. "Your posture is all wrong," he complained. He walked over to her and put his hands on her waist and shoulders, in order to show her how she should stand. The moment he had touched her, he retracted his hands, though, as if he had been burned.

"I am sorry," Erik stammered. "I did not mean… it was inappropriate of me to touch you in this way…"

He looked so contrite, that Christine had to laugh. "Oh Angel," she said. "How am I supposed to do it right if you don't show me? There is nothing inappropriate about it. So, please, tell me what I should do?"

Erik looked at her doubtfully. Was it possible that she truly was not offended that he had touched her? Had she just given him permission to touch her if he wanted to correct her posture? The only thing he knew for sure was that he had enjoyed the brief contact of his hands with her body, that touching her had reminded him once again what an utterly lovely, desirable woman she was, and that he loved her with all his heart.

"Well," he finally mumbled, "maybe I can show you. Watch me." Then he stood next to Christine, showing her exactly how she should carry herself while singing. Christine tried to imitate him as best she could. "Like that?" she asked. Erik nodded. "Much better," he concurred. "Now just raise your head a bit more, then we can try again."

This time they got through the scales. Erik started at a fairly low key, but kept going up and after a while Christine found herself hitting stratospheric high notes again. Erik was pleased. "Your voice has not suffered at all," he stated, "your technique has become sloppy, but I should be able to help you with that. In a few weeks you will be back at your previous level of excellence." Then he swallowed hard. He had said that automatically. Nobody had told him just how excellent a singer this young woman had been, but somehow he just knew that she had been magnificent.

Christine gave him one of her beautiful smiles. "I promise I will practice," she said, "and I will try to follow all your instructions. I know you will be able to bring me up to speed in no time."

Erik hesitated for a moment. Then he turned to Christine, encouraged by her enthusiasm to ask her a question. "Will you come back for a lesson tomorrow?" He looked at her uneasily. What if she considered him to be too bold to ask for another meeting so soon? "Antoinette as well, of course," Erik added quickly, to make sure she understood that his intentions were honorable.

Christine beamed. "Of course, Erik," she said. "If you can spare the time for my lessons, and…" she looked down. "And there are some things we need to discuss," she added in a whisper. "I need to tell you a lot more about.. before…"

Erik nodded. "You wanted to tell me, how you finally found out I was not an angel," he stated flatly. "Would you mind…?"

Christine thought about it for a moment, then sat down next to him on the piano bench. There was not really enough room for two, but Christine had a feeling that Erik would need the comfort of her presence for what he was about to hear.

Erik stiffened, when he felt Christine's body so close to his, their shoulders touching, but Christine's voice made him relax again.

"I told you about my debut," Christine started cautiously, "and that I had begged my angel to show himself to me. My performance was such a huge success, and when I finally returned to my dressing room, Mme. Giry was waiting for me. There were tons of flowers all around," she continued, "but I was most interested in one single red rose that had a black satin ribbon tied around its stem."

Erik's eyes widened. So that was why he had felt the urge to bring her a rose tied with such a ribbon when he had first spotted her in her garden. "From me," he stated flatly.

Christine giggled. "Of course from you! Mme. Giry gave it to me on your behalf, telling me that 'he' was pleased." Christine looked at Erik pointedly. "She delivered more than just your letters."

Erik was at a loss what to say. He had dared sending this lovely girl a red rose, the flower of love, and she did not seem to mind. What was even stranger was the fact that he had used the girl's foster mother to present her with this gift and that woman had obviously not minded either that he was attempting to court her young charge.

"I was just thinking that it was odd that angels could send flowers," Christine continued, "when I was interrupted. A childhood friend whom I had not seen in years had seen me at the performance and recognized me and he wanted to rekindle our friendship."

Erik felt a jealous rage build within him. He had known it! Christine was way too lovely to go unnoticed. It was inevitable that sooner or later a young, attractive man would come along and take her away from him.

Christine felt how Erik tensed next to her at her mention of Raoul. "I turned him down," she quickly explained. "He wanted to take me to dinner, but I declined." Erik exhaled deeply, relieved.

"I was hoping for my angel to contact me," Christine confessed, blushing. "That strange angel that sent me a flower. I was more convinced than ever that he had to be an actual person. And then," she smiled at Erik, remembering that long-ago evening, "you came to me. Through the mirror."

Erik frowned. There was something about a mirror, a huge, wall-length mirror in her dressing-room, he was certain about that, but he did not quite remember the importance of it. "Through the mirror?" he repeated questioningly.

Christine nodded. "Yes, it was actually a secret door," she explained. "You came to me through the mirror and escorted me to your home." She glanced at Erik, anxious to see if he would remember anything about his subterranean home.

Erik's thoughts were going in a totally different direction, though. "You went with me?" he asked incredulously. "You were not afraid?"

Christine shook her head. "Of course not. Why would I have been afraid of my angel? I knew it was you, I recognized my angel's voice, why should I have been afraid?"

Erik hesitated. "I was a man," he said, "and you a young woman. Did you not think that I might… take advantage of you, if you came to my home with me?"

Christine smiled. "Don't be silly," she chastised him. "I knew my angel would never do such a thing. I had known you for almost ten years by then, I knew I could trust you and that I would be safe with you."

She leaned against his shoulder. "I still know that, Erik," she said. "I do trust you, and I know that I will always be safe with you. Always."

Erik nodded. What she had just said made sense. Of course she trusted her angel, but… "What about my face?" he asked. "Weren't you frightened, disgusted, when you finally saw me?"

Christine shook her head. She swallowed hard before her next words, fearing that they might trigger a memory. "You were wearing a mask," she finally said.

Erik stared ahead. His mind's eye showed him a white half-mask that would cover the marred right side of his face quite well. Of course such a garment would make him stick out just as much as his deformity, only in a different way. "A mask," he whispered, "I used to wear a mask…"

"Yes," Christine confirmed, "but M. Khan has not told you about that on purpose. He thinks that a mask would be bad for your new scar, that the chafing could reopen that wound or cause an infection. Please promise me that you will not risk that!"

There was so much genuine concern for his wellbeing in her voice and eyes that it was impossible for Erik to ignore it and he began to dream again. Then his mind returned to reality. "Don't get your hopes up," he reminded himself. "She does care for you, that much is obvious, but don't expect her to return your feelings."

"I will not wear a mask again, if you don't want me to," he promised Christine and was rewarded by a relieved smile. "But if I was wearing a mask," Erik continued, "how come you finally… I mean, you said you have seen my face."

Christine hung her head in shame. "I behaved disgracefully," she confessed. "I guess you can say I was curious, that the mask made me want to know what was underneath it…" her voice trailed. She had skipped so many details, like that he had wooed her with the most beautiful song and that he had shown her a mannequin which was a life-like replica of herself wearing a wedding-gown, thus making his intentions clear to her. She had also left out the fact that she had spent the night in his home and that this home was situated in a cavern on the shores of a subterranean lake deep underneath the opera house. But somehow she felt that these details were not necessary at the moment. All that mattered to Erik right now was to find out how she had seen his face and how she had reacted to it.

"Erik should accept our love and friendship first," Christine told herself, "before we remind him of the really bad things in his past, so that he can rely on us then, when the terrible memories start to haunt him." That thought gave her the strength to continue. "I approached you," she confessed, "and when you least expected it, I took off your mask."

Erik stared at her in shock. She had done what? Removed the garment behind which he had been hiding his inhuman face? Exposed his shame, been confronted without warning with the hideous ugliness that was his face?

"You must have been scared and disgusted," he murmured distressedly.

Christine reached for Erik's hand. "More by your temper, than anything," she whispered.

Erik's eyes widened. "I got angry?" he asked miserably, "yelled at you?"

Christine squeezed his hand. "Yes," she admitted, "and you had every right to be angry, what I had done was totally uncalled for. It was more instinctive, though," she added. "The moment I ripped off your mask, you lashed out, then your hand immediately flew up to your face to cover yourself."

Erik was in shock. "I hit you?" he asked dejectedly. "Not on purpose," Christine tried to convince him. "It was all my fault, I should never have ripped off your mask, and once I realized how much you suffered because of your face, how low your self-esteem was," she rested her head on Erik's shoulder, thus showing him her acceptance, "my heart went out to you. Angel, your face was no issue for me then anymore. For all I cared, you would not have had to put your mask back on again, but I sensed that you wanted it back, that you felt naked, exposed without it, that wearing a mask meant to you that you could preserve your dignity that way, so I gave it back to you."

Christine smiled at Erik. "I still feel that way," she whispered. "My angel does not need to hide behind a mask or a hat or a hood or whatever other garment you might come up with to cover your face. Not in my presence at least." She made a pause for emphasis, then asked shyly, "will you take off your hat for me, Erik? Will you allow me to see my angel's face again?"


	17. Face

What can I say other than that I am sorry for making you wait – again? Thank you all for reading, for the wonderful reviews you have left me, for putting this story on alert and for adding it to your favorites, and thanks to those of you that are now reading up on my old stories. Your support is what keeps me going!

I still don't own anything or anybody, just to make sure you haven't forgotten. And now on to the next chapter, which, I think, you will find even fluffier than the previous one.

Chapter 16 – Face

Erik stiffened. The thought of exposing himself to her like that frightened him. The incident Christine had just described must have happened over three years ago, and she had mentioned that he had covered his face with his hand almost immediately. She therefore probably did not remember too clearly just how ugly his deformed face was. Seeing it again now in all its hideous glory might therefore still be a shock to her despite her assertions that it did not matter. Then there was also the question of the new scar. The angry red line which ran all the way down his disfigured temple and cheek certainly had rendered his face even scarier and more repulsive than it had been before his accident.

Christine sensed Erik's discomfort. "Please, Angel," she begged softly, trying to reassure him. "It would mean so much to me."

Erik trembled. How could he deny her when she talked to him like that? He knew that there was no point in delaying the inevitable any longer. He would have to show her his face. "At least then I will know for sure that she only cares for me as her teacher," he told himself. "At least, once I'll have seen her reaction to my face I will be able to accept that there is no hope for me to gain her love one day. The sooner I accept that fact, the better for me."

Erik nodded, steeling himself for the scene about to unfold. He stood and turned his back to Christine. After hesitating for yet another moment he raised his hands to his head and took off the hat. Christine sighed in relief. She had not been certain at all whether or not Erik would actually remove that garment and reveal his face to her. "He needs to see that I accept him," she thought. "He needs to know that he can trust me now, or I will not be able to help him when he finally remembers everything."

Christine stood as well and walked over to Erik. She stood behind him, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Turn around, Angel," she asked him. "I want to see you. Please."

Erik groaned. Her voice was so sweet, so full of genuine affection. All this would soon be over. Once she had laid eyes on the abomination of his face she would not talk to him like that anymore. She would also not come close to him anymore, she would keep her distance then and most certainly would she not dare touch him anymore.

Resigned that this was a lose-lose-situation, that he would either displease her by not letting her see him or disgust her by doing so, Erik slowly turned around, first showing her his perfect left side, then, preparing himself for the worst, he turned a little bit more, thus exposing his entire face to Christine. Erik closed his eyes. He did not want to see the revulsion in Christine's eyes. It was bad enough that he would have to hear her reaction to that utter horror which was his face.

His eyes closed, Erik waited resignedly for a piercing scream or at the very least a sharp intake of breath from Christine that would confirm that he had been right about her inability to bear the sight of his repulsive gargoyle-like head. To his surprise nothing of the sort happened. Instead he suddenly felt the delicate touch of her hand on his marred right cheek.

Erik trembled under Christine's shy caress. He was not sure if he could believe his senses. He must be imagining this, she would not touch his horrid face, nobody would do so without necessity. Sure, Nadir had had to touch his face too, when he had treated his head injury, but there had been no other way. Christine certainly did not need to touch him like that, and there was no way in hell anybody would do so out of their own free will.

"It's what I want to happen," Erik told himself, "not what really is happening. I imagine her accepting my face, because I want her so badly to do so. I need to open my eyes and look at her, to see the disgust in her eyes, to see her turn away from me, in order to accept the truth."

With almost inhuman effort Erik forced himself to open his eyes and look at Christine. He very nearly fainted at the view in front of him. Christine was positively radiant, smiling at him lovingly. The fingers of her left hand were tracing the deep red scar on his deformed right cheek and temple.

"This is the new scar," she whispered softly, "that is the injury which cost you your memories." Erik did not have the strength to answer her. He was in shock at her reaction to his face. So he only nodded silently.

"It looks nasty," Christine continued, noticing how thin Erik's skin was around the scar. It was a miracle the skin had not torn even further when Nadir had stitched the wound and Christine was fairly certain that it would not take much to reopen it. It was clear to her that Erik should never in his life wear a mask again. The chafing would most certainly cause the extremely thin skin to break again.

"Does it still hurt?" Erik felt as if Christine's voice was coming through a fog. How come she was still looking at him? How could she look at him like that, sound so concerned about him? He fought for words. "No," he finally mumbled, then explained. "Sometimes I have a headache, but most of the time it does not bother me, except…" He did not have to finish the sentence, Christine understood him anyway. Except for the fact that he could not remember.

"My poor Angel," Christine whispered, caressing his marred flesh again. "As if you had not suffered enough yet with this," she sighed, her voice full of compassion.

Erik trembled again under her caress. He could not remember anybody ever touching his abominable face like that. He was certain that nobody ever had done so. "Not even my mother…," he whispered, tears beginning to run down his face. "Not even she would want to touch this face of a monster…"

He shuddered as his mind suddenly pictured him a pretty young lady in a widow's dress, turning away from him in disgust, ordering a maid to keep this disgrace of a son God had burdened her with out of her sight.

"It's all right, Angel," Christine cooed softly, and, sensing that Erik was fighting a turmoil of emotions and was in dire need of comfort, she wrapped her arms around him on impulse and pulled him close. "I am here with you, Angel," she whispered, "and to me your face does not matter. It does not change who you are." Christine bit her lip. Maybe she should not have said that. After all, it had been his face, which had turned Erik into an outcast, shunned by society, hated, feared, abused, and thus had ultimately made him retaliate in the same way and do the terrible things he had done.

Christine decided to slightly change her approach. "You have always been kind and understanding to me," she told her sobbing angel, holding him tight. "That is all that matters to me. Not your face. If you were the most handsome man in the world but nowhere near as caring as you have been with me when I needed somebody after my father's death, I would not like you at all." She closed her eyes at the memory of Raoul. He was attractive, but how much of his beauty was merely on the outside and did not extend to his personality? Where had _he_ been, when her father had died? That poor creature in her arms, though, this man who had never experienced love or kindness, who had been abused and mistreated his entire life because of a birth defect, something that was not his fault, he had enveloped her in his love, made her feel safe and given her hope again.

"You were there for me when I needed a friend," Christine continued. "You gave me new hope when I thought all the happiness had left my life forever. You watched over me all those years, you taught me so many things, not just music. Your vast knowledge in so many areas helped me countless times, and you always had a solution for my problems. Your beauty is on the inside, Angel," she whispered. "You do not need a pretty face to impress me. I…" Christine interrupted herself, embarrassed. She almost had said that she loved him anyway.

"Oh Christine," Erik sobbed. He was close to an emotional breakdown. He was not used to any of this. He had little to no experience with human relationships now, and he was pretty certain that his experience in that area had been seriously lacking even before his accident. He had not expected Christine to react to his face like that at all. It was hard for him to accept that she could look at this curse that he had been carrying all his life without fear or disgust. That she would willingly touch his marred flesh was way beyond even his wildest dreams, and the way she was holding him and comforting him…. Was he dreaming?

This was all too much for him. Erik slowly slid down to his knees and buried his face in Christine's stomach. "How can you treat me like that," he sobbed, "me, the repulsive carcass?"

Christine joined him on the floor, once again wrapping her arms around him. "You are no such thing," she scolded him, "don't let me ever hear you speak like that about yourself. You are my angel, a very important person in my life. Please believe me, when I tell you, that appearance is not everything. I am sure Nadir agrees with me on that and Madame… Antoinette as well. We all know you. We all know that there is so much more to you than your face. Your kindness and caring, for instance, that you lavished on me when I was a lonely, heart-broken child, your many talents, architecture, music… That is, who you really are. These qualities define you as a person, not your face."

Christine pulled Erik even closer, touching her left cheek to his disfigured right one. "You mean the world to me, Angel," she whispered.

Xxx

Nadir had shown Mme. Giry the garden. He had taken his time, trying to give the two star-crossed lovers as much time to discuss their situation as possible. When he finally could not come up with anything else he could do or say to keep the former ballet mistress away from the parlor any longer, the two made their way back to the house. They were about to enter the parlor, when they heard sobbing. They cautiously peeked in through the half-open door and saw their two charges on the floor, wrapped into each other's arms, sobbing. Erik was not wearing his hat.

Nadir pulled Mme. Giry back. "We are in the way here," he murmured softly. Mme. Giry nodded and followed him out onto the terrace again. Once they were out of earshot, Nadir stated bluntly, "they are in love." Mme. Giry nodded again. "I know," she said.

Nadir looked at her quizzically. "Does that mean you approve?" he asked. "I know it is too soon, to think about it, but once they will have cleared up all the misunderstandings I am sure that Erik will propose to Christine. I know she is like a daughter to you and she told me you are about to adopt her. How would you feel about her marrying Erik? Would he be welcome to you as son-in-law?"

Mme. Giry smiled. "I hoped they would find the way to each other when he tried to court her for the first time, my opinion in this regard has not changed, now that I know that his feelings are being returned by Christine. I will be happy for them, once they will finally be together."

Nadir was satisfied. He had no doubts now that his friend's future would be bright. "I think that in that case we should help our couple-to-be that they can spend a lot of time together and get reacquainted. They both deserve happiness now, after all they have been through. The sooner they can resolve their problems, the better. I guess that means," he added, chuckling, "that you will have to accompany Christine here for 'music lessons' quite often."

Mme. Giry sighed theatrically and rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. "The lengths one goes to to make these children happy," she joked.

Xxx

Erik calmed down a bit, the comfort of Christine's arms soothed him and helped him regain a semblance of composure. "We should not sit here on the floor," he told Christine, giving her an adoring look that made her blush. She trembled in his arms, while Erik helped her to get on her feet again.

"Christine," Erik asked, encouraged by her blush which once again ignited the flame of hope in his chest. "If you truly mean what you just told me…" he hesitated once again. Was he about to make a fool of himself? Had he misread her feelings after all?

"I mean, if you do not feel revolted by my hideousness," he stammered, "and if you do appreciate what few qualities I might have… would you… that is… please do not be offended… but … do you think there is a chance… might you be willing to consider… " Erik began to sweat. He had not imagined it could be that hard to ask a girl if he might be allowed to court her.

Christine smiled at him encouragingly. "What is it you want to know, Angel?" she asked softly. Erik summoned all his courage once again. "Could you love me?" he blurted out, then, shocked by his own words, he mumbled, "I now it is asking much, and I will understand if you say it is not possible, but…." He looked at her, imploring her with his eyes. "I love you so much," he confessed, "I think I have always loved you, even before… I only ask to give me a chance, to let me try and win your heart, to not refuse me right away, to give it some consideration…"

Christine started sobbing and buried her head in his chest. "Oh Erik," she whimpered, "I wish I could say yes." Erik tensed, he prepared himself for rejection. He realized now how foolish it had been to even ask. A pretty girl like her might be able to deeply care for the likes of him, but love? And intimacy? No, she would certainly not want a man with a corpse-like face make love to her, not to forget the little detail that he was almost twice her age and almost old enough to be her father.

"Forgive me, Christine," he begged, mortified to see her in tears. "Forget about it, if I had known it would upset you so, I would never have brought it up…"

Christine shook her head. "No Angel," she said, "you misunderstand. Pretty much the opposite of what you are thinking right now is the case." She smiled at him lovingly. "Now that you have told me I can admit my feelings for you. I do love you as well," she blushed deeply as Erik's arms closed around her. "But," Christine continued, suddenly looking sad, "a lot has happened between the two of us that you are not aware of right now. Part of it you do not remember, and there are a few things that you do not know about, because they happened in the past three years when we did not see each other." Not for the first time Christine wondered if Erik would still want her once he learned that she was a used woman, and whether or not it would matter to him that she apparently was not able to conceive.

"It would be unfair of me, if I gave you hope right now," she continued, her voice shaking with tears, "when you do not know all the facts. Being the honorable man that you are, you might feel bound by your word even if you later found out things that might make you want to not marry me anymore."

Erik pulled her close. "Nothing," he promised, "nothing will keep us apart, if only you love me. Nothing else will matter. Say it again, Christine, is it true, do you love me? Will you marry me?"

Christine sighed. "I do love you," she stated, "but I cannot marry you. At least not now," she added, when she saw Erik's sunken face. "You need to know all the facts first," she added softly. "Everything that I did and everything you did, and all about me during the time of our separation. Once you do know everything, you will have to think about it and decide if you still want me. If yes, then you may ask me again, and then, only then, will I be able to accept your proposal."

Erik beamed. "Then you will marry me," he said happily, "for I know that nothing and nobody will be able to make me change my mind about you. I will always love you."

Christine looked up at him uncertainly. "Let's talk about this again, once you know everything," she whispered. Erik smiled at her. "My little bride," he murmured, "my fiancée, whatever it is that you fear, my love will be stronger than any obstacles. I know that nothing will be able to keep us apart as long as you love me." He looked her in the eyes and lowered his head to kiss her. Christine gasped. She wanted nothing more than to feel Erik's lips on hers again, to feel his tongue…

Resolutely Christine freed herself from Erik's arms. "Not now, Erik," she told him, "wait till everything is clear between us, till I can accept your proposal without feeling as if I tricked you into marrying me, as if I were abusing your love for me. Once I have freely agreed to be your bride, you may kiss me as often as you want."


	18. Angst

WOW! Thank you, thank you, thank you! A new record in reviews per chapter! I take it that means you all like the fluffy stuff, right? But things are getting a bit more angsty now, as you are all aware that our boy has some terrible things in his past that he needs to remember, and the first one of his unpleasant memories is about to surface.

Anyway, I still don't own etc. you know the routine. But here is the next chapter.

Chapter 17 – Angst

The wall clock suddenly began to strike and Christine looked up. "Six o'clock already," she murmured, glad for the chance to change the topic. "I should find Mme. Giry, so that we can go home."

Erik gazed at her, his eyes imploring her to give in to his pleas and accept his proposal. "Will you…," he began uncertainly, "will you still come back tomorrow?" God, he hoped he had not offended her by trying to kiss her, before she was his bride, and that whatever she thought was standing between them would not make it impossible for her to see him now.

The doubt in his voice combined with the adoration in his eyes gave Christine goose bumps. She realized how precarious an emotional state he was in and that he was in desperate need of a sign of her affection. Thus she gave Erik a warm smile and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Of course, Erik," she told him, "I would love to come back tomorrow, so we can sing together again and I can tell you a few more things. Now that you have confessed your love to me, there is a lot you need to know."

Erik nodded, and holding on to her hand he lead her out to the terrace where they found Nadir and Mme. Giry.

Xxxx

When they heard the approaching footsteps of their two charges, Nadir and Antoinette turned towards the house to meet the couple. The first thing they noticed were the red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained faces, a certain awkwardness between them, Christine's subdued mood and Erik's eyes shining with hope, as well as their interlaced fingers. It was very obvious that something important had happened between the two, but that not all problems had yet been resolved.

Then Mme. Giry realized that Erik was not wearing his hat anymore. She was not sure if he had only forgotten to put it on again after he had obviously removed it for Christine earlier or if he was consciously allowing her to see his deformed face, but she was glad the hat was gone. That gave her a chance to prove to Erik that she, too, accepted him the way he was, and loved him like the big sister she should have been to him all those years ago, while at the same time she would be able to somewhat defuse the slight tension and uneasiness between him and Christine.

"Oh Erik," she smiled at him, "I am so glad you have decided to show us your face." Erik's eyes took on a haunted look and he began to fidget nervously. He had completely forgotten about the hat and now that he was being reminded of the absence of his protective garment, he felt exposed, naked. His right hand was about to cover his deformity, when Mme. Giry gently caught it in her own hand.

"No Erik," she said softly, "you do not need to hide. We are neither frightened nor disgusted by your face. Your looks do not change the way we feel about you. I am certain, M. Khan here has told you so repeatedly, and I can assure you, that Christine and I feel the same way about it. All of us know you and we appreciate you for the talents and qualities you have. And neither of us is superficial enough to shun you because of your face."

Erik seemed unconvinced and looked at her uneasily. Mme. Giry suddenly felt guilty. She should have told him that years ago. She should have shown him her sisterly love when they were still children. It never had occurred to her that the boy she had saved from the gypsies might need more than a place to sleep, some food and clean clothes. "I neglected him almost as badly as his mother," she thought to herself, "and then I expected Christine to pick up the pieces and undo the damage we all had done to this man's psyche."

On an impulse to make it up to him for her neglect all those years ago, she pulled Erik into a tight embrace. "I know I failed you when we were children," she confessed. "I should have shown you my acceptance more openly. After all, when I saved you from the gypsies, I took on a responsibility. I guess my only excuse is my youth and immaturity at that time, I did not understand that what you needed most was a family. I should have been a sister to you, not just a provider of nourishment and other essentials…"

Erik stiffened. "The gypsies," he murmured. He suddenly knew what it was that he had been running from, when Antoinette had shown him to a save place. At her words his mind had released another set of memories, highly unpleasant ones. Erik saw himself as a small boy in the gypsy camp, abused, mistreated, beaten, ridiculed, forced to reveal his disgrace of a face to paying audiences, to endure their verbal abuse, their disgust. He remembered falling asleep hungry almost every night, living in a cage like an animal, not ever having any privacy, having rotten fruit and vegetables thrown at his ugliness and people spit at him. It had been too much to bear, at one point Erik had not been able to endure this abuse any longer. One day…

Erik's eyes widened in sudden shock. He freed himself from Mme. Giry's arms and started pacing the terrace. "I killed him," he whispered, terrified. "I killed my gypsy master and escaped." He shuddered. "I killed a man! There is blood on my hands!"

Mme. Giry sighed. She had not meant to cause these unpleasant memories to surface and agitate him like this. "It was most certainly self-defense," she said resolutely. "You needed to get away from that monster or he would have slowly killed you with his abuse. You were already malnourished and the delicate skin of your face as well as some of the injuries he had caused you were getting infected. You would not have lasted much longer, and till this day I cannot think of any other way how you could have gotten away. He would never have let you go, not for all the money in the world."

She stopped the pacing man and laid a calming hand on Erik's shoulder. "I saw how he treated you, Erik," she said softly. "You were only a little boy, an innocent child. You should never have been abused like this. He should have hanged for his crimes against you. He deserved to die." She looked Erik in the eye. "I would not have helped you if I did not feel that way. None of us here is holding this against you, Erik." She paused for a moment. "I could have killed that beast myself," she finally confessed. "I was so furious at him when I saw what he did to you, I wanted him dead."

Erik's eyes were searching Christine's. "Do you feel the same way?" he asked her hesitantly. "This is not the reason why you did not…?"

Christine shook her head. "No, Erik," she comforted him. "That has nothing to do with us. I realize that you had no other choice if you wanted to survive." She shuddered as she remembered what her foster mother had told her about that particular incident, how thin and filthy and covered with bruises and festering wounds the boy she had saved from the gypsies had been.

"I am glad you were able to escape from those brutes," she told Erik. "I do not know what would have become of me, if I had not had my Angel of Music." She smiled at him. "You would not have been able to comfort me after my father's death if you had allowed that monster of a man to slowly slaughter you."

Erik nodded. He understood her point of view. Christine and Antoinette apparently had forgiven him long ago for killing that gypsy for the reasons they had stated, and in a way he agreed with them. This was just all so new for him, until a few moments ago he had not known about this incident, he had not had time to come to terms with his past crime yet.

A terrible thought suddenly assaulted him. If it was not this murder on his hands, what else could it be that kept him and Christine apart? If she had rejected him because he had killed a man, he could have understood, but she said that this was not the case. There must be something else, and now that a rather dreadful episode of his past had been revealed to him, Erik began to fear that there might be more horrors lurking in the depths of his mind, waiting for him to remember. He was suddenly convinced that Christine's reluctance to become his bride was not unjustified and he worried that the obstacles between them that he had been so willing to abolish, might prove to be insurmountable after all.

Xxxx

Christine was silent on the way home, but Mme. Giry noticed a certain tension. It was obvious to her that the young woman was just as agitated as Erik had been when he remembered his time with the gypsies. Once they had reached their house she therefore put a comforting hand on her foster daughter's shoulder and asked softly, "is everything fine between you and Erik?"

Christine was not able to hold back her tears any longer. "Oh Mme. Giry," she sobbed, "my poor Angel! How will he be able to deal with the truth if this one killing in self-defense has affected him so badly? How on earth will he react once he finds out about all the other things he has done? He barely seemed to accept that his own survival was at stake, that there was no way around killing that child-abusing misfit if he wanted to live on. I am so afraid," she cried.

Mme. Giry understood. That same thought had crossed her mind when she had witnessed Erik's shock at the realization that he had killed. But she hoped to God that their fears might be unfounded, that Erik would be strong enough to accept his past, all of it.

"He is not alone," she tried to comfort Christine. "He has us. He has a family now that loves him. Once he remembers everything, he will also realize that we have known all along and have not shied away from him, that we have accepted him with all his shortcomings."

Christine nodded, unconvinced. "He thought it was because of this killing that I had told him I could not become his bride right away," she sobbed. "Erik suspected I have rejected his proposal because of this! How can I make him understand that I know about all his crimes and still do not condemn him, especially when I abandoned him after Buquet…"

Mme. Giry stared at her. "What did you just say?" she asked surprised. "Erik proposed to you? So soon? You have barely had time to get reacquainted!"

Christine smiled. "Yes," she confessed happily. "My angel told me he loves me, has always loved me and asked me to give him a chance, to at least consider…" She looked dreamily into the far distance. "I think the way I reacted to his face prompted this declaration, and I so wish I could have said yes and become his fiancée, but I could not. I would be betraying him all over again if I tried to bind him to me now when he does not know all the details. So I told him that he had to wait, that there was so much he did not remember or had never known of, and that only once he'd had all the facts, he should decide whether or not he wanted me. And if he asked me then, my answer would be yes."

Mme. Giry hugged her. "I am confident that all will go well his time, that the two of you will be able to sort out everything. He does love you, after all, and since he loves you, he will be able to forgive you, just like you have forgiven all his past actions because you love him."

Christine sighed. "It's not just my betrayal," she whispered. "I am a used woman, I will not be able anymore to give him my virginity, and I cannot get pregnant…"

Mme. Giry interrupted her. "Nonsense," she said, "there is no proof that you cannot have children. In fact, have not these doctors that Raoul consulted told you so as well?" Christine blushed at the memory of her deepest humiliation and Mme. Giry pulled her close. "If anything, Erik will love you more, once he learns how the Vicomte has treated you, and as to your previous marriage… while a man likes to be the first one with his wife, I am confident that Erik will value your love higher than your virginity. Most men do," she added confidently, "or no widow would ever find a second husband. And you have not done anything inappropriate, trust me, Erik will get over this."

Xxx

A few hundred meters up the street, Nadir was trying to comfort a similarly agitated Erik. "Yes, I knew about the gypsy," Nadir repeated exasperatedly. "I feel about it the same way as the two ladies, you had no choice. I do not think less about you because of it, I love you just the same, and in case you must know, Darius knows as well, and as you are quite aware of, the man is rather fond of you. We do not care, Erik. We love you the way you are, despite your shortcomings, as we hope that you love us despite ours."

Erik stared at him. "Why did you not tell me?" he asked. "I am a criminal and never knew it! Is that why you brought me here? Were the authorities looking for me?"

Nadir bit his lip. If he answered this question truthfully he would have to say yes, but Erik was in no condition to deal with the rest of his criminal actions right now. "I tried to get you away from you past," Nadir finally said, "and from Miss Christine. I knew you were in love with her, but I had no reason to believe she was returning your feelings. But I was wrong on that, was I not?"

Nadir was proud of himself. He had not technically told a lie and had at the same time managed to change the topic.

Erik's face lit up. "She said she loves me, and that the gypsy does not change that fact, but she would not allow me to call her my bride. She said there was a lot more that I needed to know before she could accept my proposal. She seems to think that some things she may have done in the past or I may have done in the past might make me turn away from her, as if I ever…"

Nadir smiled. "I know, you love her unconditionally. But she was right not to accept your proposal now. There is more in your past that you do not remember than just that gypsy. Things that happened between the two of you, and I think she might also have thought about a few things that happened over the past three years. I am confident, though, that you are right, that nothing you will learn from her in the near future or remember as you remembered the gypsy today, will be able to kill your love for her."

He chuckled. "In any case, I am already getting used to the idea of becoming your best man once the time will be right."

Erik looked at his friend, full of hope. "You think she will eventually agree to marry me?" Nadir patted the younger man's shoulder. "Yes. I am sure she will. It all depends on you. She did not say she could not marry you, am I right?" Erik nodded and Nadir continued, "that's proof enough that she has already decided. Unlike you, she knows everything, remembers everything. Unlike you, she has had time to consider all the facts and think about it. She has decided that she would like to marry you, but you have not had the chance yet to evaluate all the facts, and while I am sure that your love will be strong enough to overcome whatever problems there may be, and Miss Christine hopes the same, she would not allow you to become honor-bound to her before you have had that chance." He paused for a moment, then added, "she is a good woman, your Christine."

Erik nodded in agreement, then looked at Nadir. "You know what she was talking about," he stated. "You know what she thinks may keep us apart. Why do you not tell me? Why do you keep me in the dark?"

Nadir hesitated for a moment. "I do know some of it," he admitted, "though only from hear-say. I was not present when these things happened. But there are things I do not know." He briefly remembered that Christine had told him that she had kissed Erik, and that he still could not imagine when and how this might have happened. "I also believe that Miss Christine will want to tell you these things herself. After all, this is between the two of you, no third party should get involved."

Erik sighed. "You could at least give me a hint or two," he begged. "It must be really bad, since you are so reluctant to talk about it. Is it worse than murdering that gypsy?"

Nadir was beginning to feel nervous. He did not want to reveal any more of Erik's past to his friend. In his opinion, Erik had had enough to deal with for one day. So he only smiled enigmatically and told Erik that it was best to ask Christine about this when she would be coming back for tea the next day. "But I assure you that it is nothing that love will not be able to overcome," he added reassuringly.


	19. Il Muto

Awkward look at faithful readers. I know, I know, you have been waiting... To be honest, I had hoped to get the next chapter out sometime last week, but once again didn't get around to finishing it. Well, the good news is, it's finally ready, but the bad news is, I am on vacation right now, which means no update next weekend. The next chapter should be available in about two weeks. I hope you won't desert me in the meantime! I promise to try and make it extra-special!

I still don't own anything or anybody, and chances are not good that this will change anytime soon.

Chapter 18 – Il Muto

Mme. Giry and Christine returned for tea the next afternoon. This time, Erik and Christine asked to be excused from tea-time and proceeded straight to the parlor. Christine suggested that they might start with a singing lesson, so that they could relax a bit, before she would tell Erik more about their shared past. They worked hard on Christine's voice for about an hour, and both were very content with the progress she made. Her breathing technique was almost back to its previous level of excellence and Erik thought that they might soon be able to start studying arias.

When they had finished their lesson, Erik asked Christine to tell him more about their relationship after their first encounter. What had happened after she had returned the mask to him? How had the revelation that he was just a man influenced her view of her "Angel"?

Christine sighed. This was starting to get uncomfortable. She was getting close to the Buquet-incident now. How would Erik take this revelation?

"At first nothing much happened," she began cautiously. "You brought me home and we resumed our music lessons the following day. The Opera Populaire was getting ready for a new production, a piece called "Il Muto", and you helped me study the principal soprano role of the Countess."

Erik nodded. "You were cast in that role after your success in Hannibal?" he asked. Christine hesitated for a moment. She did not want to tell him that he had threatened the managers to make them give that prestigious role to her. "We hoped I would be allowed to sing it," she finally explained, "but the managers had other plans. I was once again only the understudy."

Erik groaned. "They must have been brainless," he said, "your voice is breathtakingly beautiful, you would have been a huge success as the Countess." Christine smiled at him. "Is it possible that you are not completely unbiased in that regard?" she asked teasingly.

Erik smiled as well. "Of course our relationship and the fact that I had taught you, may have influenced my opinion," he admitted. Then he hesitated. "What was our relationship like after we finally met? Was it the same it had been before, when you had still considered me to be your Angel of Music?"

Christine looked away. "It was not quite the same," she confessed. "There was a certain awkwardness between us. I do not know what had caused it. But I suspect it had something to do with the fact that it began to dawn on me that I was not a child anymore, and that my angel was a man. And you... I guess, you had got it into your head that once I knew about your face, there was no chance you could ever win my heart." She looked at Erik affectionately. "Your self-esteem and your ability to judge your friends' feelings for you have always been somewhat lacking."

Erik nodded. Yes, he could imagine himself feeling attracted to his student but too unsure of himself to dare courting her. "Would you have wanted me to …?" he asked. Christine smiled. "I already loved my Angel, and when I saw your face, I was overcome with compassion for you. I wanted so much to make it up to you for all the abuse you had suffered. It would not have taken much to win me over back then, but you..." She shook her head. "You seemed to think that I could only barely tolerate you. You were quite withdrawn at times and seemed to avoid looking at me or touching me."

Erik knew only too well how he might have felt back then, he, the loathsome gargoyle, close to madness with love and longing for this beautiful woman, but unable to voice his feelings. He was fairly certain that the situation must have been hell for him and that it must have cost him all his energy to show so much composure in her presence.

"What happened then?" he asked curiously. Christine bit her lip. "Then the opening night of "Il Muto" was marked by a tragedy," she whispered. "And as a consequence I lost my trust in you and betrayed you."

Erik stared at her. "What do you mean, a tragedy?" he asked. "What happened that night?" Christine wrung her hands. "Somebody died," she finally said. "A stagehand."

"An accident?" Erik muttered, afraid of her answer. Christine looked down. "I don't know," she admitted. "I still don't know what happened, but when Buquet dropped on that stage, with the noose around his neck..."

Erik's eyes widened. "Buquet," he repeated, "a noose... hanged... did I... ?" His voice trailed. Christine nodded, unable to speak or to look at him.

"Oh my God," Erik collapsed onto the piano bench. "A murderer... I am a murderer... the gypsy was not the only one..."

His desperation broke Christine's heart. "It was most likely self-defense," she said slowly. "Mme. Giry told me that this Buquet-person had been stalking you, telling people details about your face, endangering you in various ways, and that she had warned him to leave you alone, repeatedly. I think the two of you ran into each other during the performance, and that he and you had a show-down in the rafters and you won."

Erik stared at her. "You think," he said, "but you do not know for certain. What if I just coldbloodedly killed him, because I felt like killing somebody?" Christine started to sob. "That's what I assumed that day. I thought you were in a furious mood because I was not allowed to sing the principal role, and that you had looked for release of your anger... I never even asked you about it, I never bothered. I condemned you without knowing what really happened."

Erik was as pale as the wall. "It is only natural that you felt that way. After all, I had killed before..." There was so much desperation and self-loathing in his eyes, that Christine reached for him. Her tiny hand cupped his deformed cheek. "I did not know about the gypsy at that time," she confessed. "Mme. Giry told me about that much later. But I had known you for close to ten years, and I should have known better than to blame you without knowing all the facts. I should have asked you what happened, I should have given you a chance to defend yourself, or to at least justify, explain your actions to me."

"Why?" Erik's laugh sounded almost insane. "Why should you have bothered with a killer? If it was clear that I had been the cause of this man's death..."

Christine took his face in both her hands. "He did die, and you were involved in some way, but for all I know it could even have been an accident. I should never ever have condemned you the way I did. I should have given you a chance to explain the situation to me. I owed you that much, but I didn't have the decency to let you defend yourself. As I said, I never bothered to ask you, I was just so shocked, and I felt … betrayed."

Erik frowned. "Betrayed?" he asked, "how so?" Christine averted her eyes, blushing. "Because I thought that my trust and my admiration for my angel had been misplaced. Because I felt like I had given my heart to somebody undeserving."

Erik nodded. He could not blame her. After all, her teacher, father-figure, mentor, whatever she had seen in him, a person she had respected, looked up to, and maybe even liked, had killed somebody. How was she supposed to react? Of course she would have been agitated and prone to condemn him.

"I was so angry at you," Christine sobbed, "I screamed around that you would be killing again and again, and said all sorts of vicious things about you." She took another deep breath, before adding, "and I said all those things to my childhood-friend, the one who had recognized me in Hannibal."

Erik shivered. "You turned to him for comfort," he whispered. Christine nodded. "I needed somebody I could vent to, and he was the only one that came to mind, Mme. Giry not being entirely unbiased when it comes to you. He had been hanging around the theater for weeks, trying to win my affection, but I had not been too interested. After all, where had he been all these years, after my father died, when I would have needed a friend? But that night..." Christine looked down, ashamed of herself.

Erik's tears were running freely now. "I drove you away," he sobbed. "I do not remember why or how I killed this man, but obviously that's what drove you away."

Christine nodded. "Yes," she said. "I lost my trust in my Angel, that night, and Raoul did his best to charm me. I guess he finally saw his chance and tried very hard to win me, realizing that I was terribly disappointed in whoever else had held my interest until then."

"Raoul?" A surge of jealous anger cursed through Erik at the mention of that name. "A boy, isn't he?" he whispered. "Handsome face, longish hair, rich, nobility, a Vicomte or something like that."

Christine hung her head. "Yes," she murmured. "Raoul de Chagny. He used my confused state of mind to his advantage, promised me the moon and the stars, and to keep me safe from that murderous bastard that had somehow had me under his spell for such a long time, so that I had been immune to my dear childhood sweetheart's advances. But now, that I had come to my senses, he would do all in his power to protect me and make sure that you would never again threaten me..."

Erik's anger flared again. "He said that?" he roared. "How dare he say such things! Whatever else I may have done, I am absolutely certain that I never put you under a spell of any sort and never threatened you. I would never hurt you."

Christine smiled. "I know, Erik. And I should have known then. After all, I had known you for ten years. But I was so confused and angry, that I did not think clearly, and Raoul was trying his best to charm me, he said he would always be there to guard me and to guide me..." She closed her eyes. "I fell for it," she said, ashamed of herself. "I let him influence me, I allowed him to make me think that you were a terrible monster out to destroy me and maybe the whole Opera Populaire and God knows what else. That you were a threat to humanity, or at the very least to all of Paris and its music scene."

Erik laughed. It was a hard, bitter sound. "Let me guess, he told you he loved you and you ran into his arms, and I was forgotten."

Christine shifted uncomfortably. "Yes and no," she admitted. "I did listen to his declaration of love, and I promised to share my love and lifetime with him, but …." She was not quite certain how to put it. "You were not forgotten, Angel, I just did not see you for months. You stayed away from me, and as I have mentioned before, I never bothered to seek you out, to ask you about the death of Buquet. But Raoul was there..."

"Raoul,..." Erik repeated slowly. "Your fiancé, is he not? He kissed you on the rooftop of the Opera Populaire, and touched you, and I..." Tears welled in his eyes again.

Christine stared at him in shock. "You were there," she whispered, realization finally hitting her. "You saw us on the rooftop. And of course you thought it was his handsome face what had drawn me to him." She looked down. Why had she never before considered the possibility that Erik might have overheard her conversation with Raoul that night? She should have known the moment he used almost the exact same words they had said to each other that night during the performance of Don Juan, just before she had ripped off his mask. He must have heard those words somewhere. The only logical explanation was that he had been on the roof with them.

Erik stared in the far distance, reliving the moment when he had felt his heart break. "I gave you my music," he whispered, "made your song take wing, and now how you've repaid me, denied me and betrayed me..." He remembered the scene clearly now. He had knelt down where she had dropped the rose, the precious, perfect rose he had given her as a token of his undying love, and which she had dropped carelessly into the snow when that boy had begun to charm her. Erik felt his heart break all over again. He sounded so utterly forlorn and miserable, and tears were running freely down his face that Christine threw herself into his arms, sobbing desperately.

"That's all my fault," she cried. "I hurt you so badly. I should have trusted you. I should not have listened to Raoul. If I had gone to you the next day and asked you about Buquet, we could have sorted it all out then and there, we could have been happy together."

Erik looked at her incredulously. "You would have forgiven me, even though I had killed another man?" Christine nodded. "Yes," she confirmed. "I have forgiven you in the meantime. I still do not know if it was absolutely necessary to kill that man, and I admit that I'd prefer if you stopped doing such things, but yes, Buquet is behind us. I can accept now that you had your reasons for killing him." She did not say it, but thought by herself that Erik most certainly would not have been able to go to the police for help against the stalker, and considering where the confrontation between him and the lecher Buquet had taken place, she knew that Erik's life must have been in danger as well, and she most definitely preferred Buquet being the one whose body had dropped onto the stage.

Erik looked at her hopefully. "So that's not the reason either, why you would not accept my proposal?" he asked in wonder. "You would still want to marry me, even though I have killed a second man?"

Christine fidgeted nervously. "The question is rather, do _you_ still want _me_, now that you know how weak my trust and friendship were," she said quietly. "Now that you know, how easily I could turn away from you and take refuge in another man 's arms, now that you have relived the pain I caused you that night."

Erik thought about it for a moment. It was true, he had been in excruciating pain that night. Watching Christine in the Vicomte's arms had hurt him so badly, it had almost killed him. And yet... he could understand why she had gone to her old childhood friend for comfort. After all, her betrayal had only been the reaction to his action of murdering a man. For whatever excuses the ladies had come up with, Erik suspected that he had derived a certain satisfaction from killing Buquet. He now remembered the lecherous drunk quite well. Buquet had always been spying on the ballet girls when they had been changing, he might even have seen his Christine in her underwear once or twice, and probably Antoinette's daughter as well. Erik was sure that the world was a better place without Buquet, and yet... he also knew that it had been wrong to kill that man.

"Since I myself caused your lack in trust," Erik finally uttered, "by committing the despicable act of murder, I must forgive you what you did in reaction to my crime." His heart still ached though, when he thought about her betrayal. Even though he knew that he had hurt Christine as well, he could not get over his pain quite that easily. Erik paused. "But that Vicomte, Raoul, ..." his voice trailed. "It was not right of him to use your emotional distress to his advantage."

Christine nodded. She had come to that same conclusion. Somehow she had realized over the past three years that of the three of them, Raoul must have been the most experienced with human relationships. She had been so young and lived such a sheltered life, and Erik had had next to no interaction with other humans. It was therefore no surprise that they had made such obvious mistakes and hurt each other so badly, but Raoul should have known. Raoul lived at the center of society, he had friends and relatives, he should have known a lot more about the human heart than either her or Erik. He should have realized that her fear and anger were telltale signs of her deep feelings for the one who had killed Buquet.

"This Raoul," Erik hesitated. He hated this man with a vengeance, for he had tried to take his Christine away from him. "Do you... are you..." He was unable to finish his question. Christine understood him anyway. "Do I still see him?" she asked, "am I still in contact with him?"

Erik nodded. "Yes," he whispered, "are you?"

"No," Christine's voice was strong and convincing. "No, I am not in contact with him anymore. He has absolutely no rights about me anymore."

Erik sighed. "Good," he commented, relieved. "For I think, otherwise I would have to kill him."

Christine smiled. "Leave him alone," she told Erik, "you do not want to kill anymore anyway, and he is not worth the effort in the first place."

Erik looked at her. Was she still defending this boy? He had just relived the moment when seeing Christine in the Vicomte's arms had broken his heart. His pain and his jealousy were still fresh. But looking at Christine and seeing the love in her eyes made him realize the absurdity of his suspicion. She was here, with him, was she not? And the Vicomte was nowhere to be seen. She was willing to forgive him that he had killed not one, but two men, so was it really too much to ask that he forgave her this brief interlude with a rival that most obviously was not a threat to him anymore?


	20. Torture

I am back! Thank you for your patience! The good news is, the new chapter is ready. The bad news is: sob, I am so sad, I was in Las Vegas, and imagine, they are closing "Phantom" there! Last performance is on September 2! So of course I had to go see it again while it still was there… It was such a lovely production which tried to incorporate a few elements from the movie. The singing was not too impressive, though, they all belted it out rather loudly and did not pay too much attention to interpretation, but I guess they are frustrated too, that it is about to end. I still enjoyed it, the music is ust so great!

Anyway, I still don't own anything or anybody, nothing has changed in that regard over the past two weeks.

Chapter 19 – Torture

Christine was not sure what to think. Erik's words told her that she was forgiven, but his eyes burned with the pain of her betrayal and his jealousy of Raoul. And on the bottom of his gaze lingered the self-loathing for having killed yet another man.

"You need some time to adjust," she said quietly, squeezing her Angel's hand affectionately. "This has been too much for you, especially coming on the heels of the surfacing of your memories about your time with the gypsies."

Erik sighed. He had to admit that she was right. Realizing that he had killed more than one man had been bad enough, but remembering Christine's relationship with that – boy, reliving the scene on the roofs of the Populaire had hurt him beyond imagination. Even though Christine was standing next to him now, smiling, holding his hand, he was not certain he would ever be able to get the image of her clinging to the Vicomte and kissing him out of his mind. He understood now that he himself had basically driven her into the arms of his rival by committing the hideous act of murder, and that she therefore was not to be blamed for her actions that night and thereafter, but his heart ached nevertheless and Erik wondered if he would ever be able to fully believe in her love for him after he had seen how easily she had fallen for another man.

"Maybe it is better, if we wait a few days before I come over again," Christine suggested calmly. "I do not want to put you under further stress too soon. I see that these deaths weigh on you, and that you need to think about my betrayal and forgive me in your heart." Erik tried to interrupt her, but Christine quickly put her finger on his lips. "Sh, don't say a word, Angel," she whispered. "I know what you told me and that you think that I may not have been as guilty as you suspected that long ago night on the roofs, but what your mind tells you and what your heart feels is not necessarily the same thing. You need time to digest all that."

Erik nodded. "You are right," he admitted. "All this has been rather a shock to me and it will probably take some time to ponder and fully accept all you have told me today." He stared at her. "How on earth can you possibly look at me like that, with so much love in your eyes, at me, a murderer?"

Erik's voice was full of despair and tore at Christine's heart. "I know the real you," she whispered. "I know the caring and loving side of you, and I am confident that you will refrain from killing people in the future, that you have already started a new life here, that the person who killed Buquet and the gypsy is a thing of the past."

Erik looked down. "You will come back?" he asked shyly, "you are not using the fact that I need time to deal with these elements of my past as an excuse to get out of my life again?" Christine shook her head. "No, Erik," she told him, burying her face in his shirt and wrapping her arms around him. "I meant it when I told you that I love you. I will be waiting for you to send me a note that you are over what happened that night. I will give you as much time as you need. Once you are ready to hear the rest, let me know, and I will be back. I promise."

She hugged Erik again, then on an impulse, she bestowed a chaste kiss on his forehead. "Don't make me wait too long, love," she whispered, before turning to leave.

Erik remained behind, stunned. How was it possible that this angel loved him despite all he had done, when he could not find it in his heart to love himself, not after learning about the crimes he had committed.

Xxxx

The next few days were hell for Erik. He was subject to a turmoil of emotions. Self-loathing because of the murders he had committed and the pain he had caused Christine by doing so were every bit as strong as his jealousy of Raoul and the memory of the desperation he had felt at Christine's betrayal. Erik's constant mood changes and the obvious distress his friend was feeling were taking their toll on Nadir as well. He was worried. The more Erik remembered or learned about his past, the harder he seemed to take it. Erik had reacted badly to the fact that he had killed two men, and there was so much more he still did not know, yet now, that his memory was slowly returning the day would come when Erik would know the full truth about his past life. What would he do once he learned about his time as the Opera Ghost – and even worse, about his time at the court of the Shah?

Nadir was beginning to fear that Erik would not be able to live with the knowledge of these horrible crimes, unless, of course, Christine would be able to convince him of her love despite everything and of her willingness to start a new life with him and help him redeem himself.

Nadir set up straight. He suddenly remembered that Christine did not know about Erik's time in Persia either. He had only warned her that there were more incidents like Buquet's death in Erik's past. Even though she had said so repeatedly, would she really be able to forgive everything, even something as bad as the torture chambers? Would her love be that strong? Or would she recoil in horror from Erik, when she found out about these horrors once he remembered and would need her love most?

Nadir realized that Christine needed to know everything at once. If after learning about her Angel's horrendous past she was still willing to stand at Erik's side and lend him moral support, give him her heart and accept him despite everything, then Erik would stand a chance, if not, then... "Then Allah may help him," Nadir whispered. He had a feeling that if Christine was unable to help Erik learn to accept himself despite his past crimes, then Erik would not want to live on, for the Erik who had woken up in his home three years ago without his memories was not the same man anymore as the Erik who had built torture chambers in Persia. The new Erik had experienced love, friendship, acceptance from the moment he awoke. That new Erik was the person Erik could always have been if his mother had been able to love her disfigured son despite his birth defect, and Nadir would do everything he could think of to make sure that this Erik had a chance at happiness.

Xxxxx

The next day, on his way home from the office, Nadir therefore stopped by at the Giry-cottage. Christine greeted him full of hope. "How is Erik doing?" she asked. "Is he over the worst? Is he ready to learn the rest?"

Nadir shook his head. "No," he said sadly. "He is nowhere near ready for that. Especially considering the nature of the memories that have not yet resurfaced but eventually will... those memories that you know nothing about..." His voice trailed. "Miss Christine, there are things that you need to know. Things, that I am not sure you will be able to forgive so easily. Things, that might make you recoil from him in shock."

Christine looked at Nadir uneasily. "You have already mentioned that there were more bad things in Erik's past," she said slowly. "But you did not tell me what exactly these things were. From your words I get the impression that they must be very bad." She nervously played with a lock of her hair, then asked hesitantly, "he has killed a few more people, has he not?"

Nadir nodded. "Yes," he confirmed quietly. "Lots of people." Christine's face turned as pale as a freshly chalked wall. "How?" she asked. "When?"

Nadir lead her to a chair and made her sit down before he continued. "It was in my home-country of Persia," he began his tale. "Erik had left the Opera Populaire at some point and for a while he travelled the world. He spent some time in Italy, where he was involved in a tragic accident which caused a young woman her life. No," he told Christine, "Erik did not kill her. She forced him to show her his face, and when he did, she was so scared that she recoiled a few steps and fell from a balcony. " Christine sighed in relief. At least this death could not be blamed on Erik.

Nadir continued. "Erik then joined a traveling fair of some kind and made a name for himself as a magician. That's when the Shah learned about him and Erik caught his interest. He summoned him to his court and made him something like his chief torturer."

Christine paled even more. "He did what?" she whispered, eyes wide in shock.

"The Shah ordered Erik to build torture chambers, to come up with always new ways how to make his own enemies die a slow and painful death. Erik got quite good at it," Nadir explained reluctantly.

"Oh my God," Christine sat in shock for a few moments, unable to speak or think. Nadir waited patiently for her to regain her composure. "How many?" Christine finally managed to utter, thinking that she might faint any moment. Was it possible, had her Angel killed numerous people in the most painful way possible? Had he caused them to suffer for hours before death took them at last?

"Dozens." Nadir knew that there was no way of making this easy for her. Christine shuddered at that thought. "Dozens," she repeated. "How could he?"

Nadir put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I am not going to make excuses for him," he said, "but disobeying the Shah was hardly an option."

Christine looked at Nadir. "You met him during this time," she stated flatly. "You knew about his crimes, yet you are his friend. How, why?"

Nadir's eyes gazed into the far distance. "Because of Reza," he murmured, his voice thick with mourning. Christine shook her head. She did not understand. "Who is Reza?" she asked.

Nadir remained silent for a while, then he explained. "Reza was my son." Christine stared at him in disbelief. "Your son?" she whispered, "you had a son? You were married once?"

Nadir nodded. "Yes, I was a happy family man once, or about to become one, when my beloved wife was expecting our first child, but she died giving birth to our son. She was the one and only woman in my life and there will never be another one for me. After she died, I bestowed all my love on our son. But Reza was sickly, and after a few years he developed a condition that could not be cured and would eventually be fatal. He was in pain most of the time, in so much pain..."

Now it was Christine's turn to put a comforting hand on the older man's arm. She knew only too well what it meant to lose a beloved person, to see a dear person struggle with death, to stand by helplessly and watch them die, after all, she had been through this as well with her father.

"I was daroga then, which is like the chief of police," Nadir continued. "It was my duty to keep an eye on Erik, the Shah never trusted him." He paused again, fighting back tears that had come unbidden when he first mentioned his son. "In order to do so, I befriended Erik, and invited him to my house," he added. "That's where he met Reza. It was strange, but the man, who had no qualms about killing people in the most horrific ways, felt compassion with my poor boy. There was a bond between them, it was as if they understood each other."

Christine nodded in understanding. "They were both different, both had their problems which made it impossible for them to lead a normal life," she whispered. Nadir nodded. "Yes, they certainly could relate to each other. That's when I first realized that Erik had a heart. That he was not the killing monster I had thought him to be. Then Reza got worse." Nadir's tears were now falling freely. "My boy was in constant pain, the disease had reached a point where not even morphine was helping anymore. It killed me to see my little Reza suffer like that."

Christine nodded. She understood only too well what Nadir must have been going through at that time, after all, she had experienced something similar when her father had died.

"One day Erik came to me," Nadir continued. "He told me that he had something that could set Reza free, spare him a few more months of endless pain and give him peace. He offered the substance to me."

Christine gasped. "He gave you something so that you could kill the child?" she asked wide-eyed. Nadir shook his head. "He offered it, but I couldn't... I mean, I wanted Reza not to be in pain anymore, I wanted it so much, but I couldn't... so Erik..." He did not finish the sentence.

Christine understood him anyway. "So Erik did it himself," she whispered.

Nadir nodded. "Erik did the right thing. He helped his little friend, saved him from months and months of agonizing pain. He gave my poor boy peace, and I will forever be grateful to him. From that day on Erik became my true friend. He had earned himself a place in my family."

Nadir smiled at Christine. "I am not quite old enough to have a son of Erik's age, so I see Erik more as my little brother or a dear nephew that I am in charge of. And I promised my Reza's spirit that I would always be there for his benefactor. That's why a while later, when the Shah was getting tired of Erik and ordered his execution I helped him escape, even though as a result I was exiled from my country after a few months in prison. And when he got injured in the burning Opera house, Darius and I went looking for Erik, brought him to my home and nursed him back to health. My loyal Darius had followed me to France, when I was exiled, because we hoped to find Erik there again. It took us a while, but we eventually got in touch with him again, at a time when he was already your Angel of Music. "

Nadir smiled. "Once again Erik had found a child that needed him. Once again he was helping a kindred spirit." He looked at Christine. "Erik is not a bad man," he said, "despite everything. He had just been so terribly neglected emotionally. If his wench of a mother were not dead by now, I might be tempted to kill her myself. Her rejection and abuse of the innocent child is the main reason for Erik's shortcomings in the moral and emotional departments."

Christine nodded. "I know that," she said. "And I do not condemn him for helping your son, but..." She shuddered again.

Nadir faced her. "I wish he would never remember that," he confessed, "but his memories are coming back now, and sooner or later the day will come. That's why I thought I had to prepare you. You had to know in advance. You needed to come to terms with Erik's time in Persia before he remembers. That is the only way that you will be able to help him deal with his own past when the time comes. That is, if you still want to, now that you know everything."

Christine looked down. "This is a shock," she admitted. "I had not expected his past to be that bad. I know that I will be able to forgive him for that eventually, since I understand that his inability to tell right from wrong, that had been caused by his traumatic childhood, had made him do these things, but it will take time. I am glad you told me now, so that I will be prepared when Erik finally remembers..."

Nadir beamed at her. "Does that mean that you are still willing to help Erik?" he asked. "Is it possible that your feelings for him are strong enough to put even these horrors behind?"

Christine sighed. "It will not be easy," she admitted, "but I feel like you. I owe Erik so much, I will forever be in his debt. And if I can help him learn to accept his own past..." she sobbed. "It hurts that he did these things," she admitted, "but I still love him. Does that make me a bad person?"

Nadir shook his head. "I think it means you are a strong person," he said. "It takes a lot of courage to get over things like these."

Christine sighed. "My poor Angel," she said, "his life has been one long nightmare so far. I cannot blame him for what he did, for I do not know if I would have been able to suffer all he has been through, the rejection, the abuse, without ending up becoming violent as well. It is a miracle that all the horrors he has experienced have not been able to completely destroy the goodness of his heart, that he still was able to feel compassion for your son and for me, that he was able to spare Raoul that night..."

Nadir smiled at her. "I was worried," he admitted. "I feared that once you knew it all, you would not want anything to do with our Erik anymore, and that the realization of his past crimes combined with your final rejection would kill him, but I am confident now that in the end, all will turn out fine."

A tiny smile played across Christine's mouth. "Isn't that the nature of love," she asked, "to be able to forgive? To accept the other with all their flaws?"


	21. Sorrow

New chapter! Thank you all for reading and reviewing. Your support is really invaluable! Erik is not ready yet for more information about his past, but Raoul gets what he deserves, ha!

Well, I still don't own anything, you know that, but how I wish, I did!

Chapter 20 - Sorrow

Nadir nodded slowly. "I think you are right," he stated, "and I am also convinced that Erik will prove himself worthy of your love. These horrors I told you about happened approximately fifteen years ago. When I helped Erik escape the Shah's wrath I made him promise that he would never kill another human being again. He kept this promise for over ten years, until Buquet." He sighed. "I am ashamed of my behavior now, but when Erik killed that man, I am afraid, I reacted very much like you. I immediately judged him. I thought that he had reverted to his old ways and that a human life did not mean a thing to him."

Christine looked at Nadir, puzzled. "You doubted him as well?" she asked. "Did you confront him then?"

Nadir looked down. "I went to his lair a few days later and told him my opinion of people who break their promises, letting him know in no uncertain terms how disappointed I was in him." Christine gasped. She now knew how heart-broken Erik had been at that time after having seen her with Raoul on the rooftop of the Opera Populaire. How would he have reacted to Nadir's reproaches?

Nadir noticed her reaction and smiled. "He was in a foul mood," he confirmed. "Of course I had no clue about what had happened between the two of you, but when I mentioned Buquet, Erik started to rage. He screamed at me that the man had been a danger to him, that he had stalked him, that he already knew too much and talked too much, that Erik had asked his friend Antoinette to tell the man off, that she had warned Buquet to stop his stalking, more than once, but that Buquet had not listened to her. He had continued to spy on Erik and as Erik had been up in the cupola of the auditorium to interrupt the performance, complaining about Carlotta and the fact that his box was occupied, Buquet had seen him and followed him. The two had run into each other high up there in the rafters and it was obvious that only one could get away alive. Erik had decided that he wanted to be that one."

Christine beamed at Nadir. "So it really was self-defense," she stated, though it sounded almost like a question. "He told you so?"

Nadir nodded. "It was self-defense. He asked me who I would have rather seen dead that night, him or the drunk lecher, and I had to admit that in this one case I had to forgive him for having taken his aggressor's life. But then," Nadir shuddered. "Then Erik stared at me and said that maybe he had been wrong, that maybe it would have been better if it had been him falling to his death that night. That maybe then his sufferings would have been over, that a monster like him, an outcast, had no business walking the Earth and being treated like dirt by normal people…"

Christine paled. "Because of me," she whispered. "He wanted to die because he had seen me with Raoul…"

Nadir sighed. "I guess so," he admitted, "although, of course, Erik did not mention that to me. So I went on lecturing him about how great a wrong it was to wish for one's own death and trying to make him understand that he was no monster, at least not anymore, that, unlike a beast, a human could learn from past mistakes and better himself, that he had already become a much better person since he had left Persia…" Nadir shook his head. "I do not understand how I could have been so dumb that day," he chastised himself. "Erik was in such a strange mood, angry and depressed at the same time, and his eyes looked so haunted. I should have realized that Buquet's death, his first killing in over ten years, was not the only thing that troubled him that day. I should have understood that something else had happened which had brought upon this unusually strong attack of self-loathing."

Tears started to well in Christine's eyes. "We failed him," she sobbed. "Erik would have needed our support and understanding then, and we were not there for him."

Nadir nodded. "Erik finally told me to leave and to never come back," he explained. "I did leave." He hung his head in shame. "But I was not planning on not coming back ever again. I thought I would wait a few weeks, give him time to cool off and then come back and discuss things with him in a reasonable way. I guess I waited too long," Nadir added, "for I never saw Erik again until I went to look for him after the fire."

Christine put a comforting hand on Nadir's shoulder. "I know that you blame yourself for what happened," she said calmly. "And you are probably right if you think that Erik would have needed a friend in those weeks and months when he was trying to come to terms with my betrayal, but the fact remains that it was me, who caused him all that pain. I do not know if anything would have been able to comfort him that winter, anything, that is," she added, "other than my return to him."

Nadir put his hand on top of hers. "None of us is free of guilt in that regard," he said quietly, "we all somehow contributed to the final disaster. It was not entirely Erik's doing, we are to blame as well, which is, why now we have to help him live with the consequences."

Christine smiled. "We will at least try to do so," she said and it sounded like a promise.

Nadir looked at her. "Maybe you should come over for tea again soon," he said. "Maybe Erik does need some time to himself as we thought, but if he is not able to come to terms with the events of the night of Buquet's death on his own, then maybe he needs all his friends with him, showing him that they do not blame him for what he did, and maybe he needs to see you in order to learn to believe in your love again."

Christine thought about it for a few moments and decided that Nadir was right. "Let's give him a few more days," she finally said. "If by the end of the week he has not told me that he is over the shock my narration of the events of that night caused him, then Mme. Giry and I will come for tea on Monday."

Nadir smiled. "Let's do it that way," he agreed.

Xxxx

The rest of the week was rather eventful for the little household of the Girys. First, Mme. Giry finally received the documents that made her adoption of Christine legal. She hugged her new daughter, relieved. Whatever happened now, Christine had a new name and could start a new life, unfettered by memories of her disastrous marriage to Raoul de Chagny and without fear of being met with contempt because of the rumors and the scandal surrounding the performance of "Don Juan Triumphant" and the fire at the Opera Populaire that were connected to the name of Daaé.

"It will probably not be necessary," Mme. Giry sobbed happily, "since I am confident that you will soon become Mme. Lavoisier, but it is good to know that even if things with Erik take longer than anticipated, you will have a chance at a fresh start."

Christine clung to the ballet mistress, crying tears of joy. "You are my mother now," she beamed. "I never had a mother before, since mine died when she gave birth to me."

When she finally released her new mother, Meg pulled her into her arms. "We are real sisters now," the young ballerina proclaimed. "I always wished I had siblings, now I do, and the best thing about it is, that I got exactly the sister I wanted!"

The two young women giggled excitedly and for the moment Christine's problems and her worry about Erik were forgotten.

The next day brought yet another surprise, though not quite as happy as the previous one. The three ladies were having breakfast together. As usual, Meg had a quick look at the newspaper, before she was about to run off to the opera house for rehearsals. She had blown away the managers of the London Opera with her auditions a few weeks ago, and as a result she had been given the role of the Queen of the Willis in the upcoming new production of "Gisèle".

Meg had just reached the social news page when she gasped. "That ungrateful brat!" she exclaimed. "How dare he! And why on Earth does he advertise this here in England? Does he know that we are here?"

Her mother and Christine looked at her blandly. "What are you talking about?" Mme. Giry finally asked.

"This!" Meg blurted out and shoved the newspaper in her mother's face. "It is offensive! He only divorced Christine a few months ago!"

Mme. Giry and Christine stared at the large announcement informing the readers of the impending nuptials between Raoul Philippe Armand, Vicomte de Chagny and Mademoiselle Juliette Euphrasie Gervaise, fille du Baron de Montcarroux.

"Juliette…" Christine whispered, then laughed. "Serves him well," she commented. "I had a suspicion that she was after him, though I did not think she would be having any luck."

Mme. Giry gave her a curious look. "It does not hurt you that he found somebody else so quickly?" she asked hesitantly.

Christine shook her head. "No," she said calmly. "I am over him completely, and it is not as if I had not…" She blushed deeply. She was getting into a new relationship as well – or maybe it was more like resuming an old one. But she most definitely could not blame Raoul for pursuing another woman when she had started seeing another man.

"The only feeling this announcement causes me is that of pity," she finally admitted. "The young lady i question is a year or two older than Raoul and until recently had been in danger of becoming an old maid." Christine giggled. "She is plain. Tall and bony, huge teeth, thin, rather colorless, blonde hair, watery blue eyes. But her family is rich and of old nobility. I wonder…" she frowned. "I thought he was attracted to the youngest daughter of the Comte de la Ferrière."

Mme. Giry smiled broadly. "My dear, it seems the Vicomte is carrying a bit of a stigma with him as well. After all, he is a divorced man. If I were the Comte de la Ferrière, I would not give him my daughter either. The girl with next to no chances of ever finding a husband on the other hand… well, I can see why _her_ family would have given their blessings."

Christine felt uncomfortable. Raoul had hurt her, that much was true. And in a way it was only fair that he would have to suffer in return as well, but she had cared for him once. He had been her childhood sweetheart so many years ago and therefore the thought that he might have had no other option than to accept the dreaded spinster as his new wife, almost made her feel sorry for him.

"It serves him right." Mme. Giry's resolute comment broke the mood and Christine was able to smile again. In a way she was grateful now that Raoul had released her, since the divorce had reunited her with the Girys, who now were her family, and had ultimately led her to London and to her Angel. And with a little bit of luck she and Erik would be able to resolve their problems and their love would finally find fulfillment.

"I am glad that I am free again," she confessed. "I had known for quite a while that I only ever had loved Raoul like a brother and that what little feelings I had had for him was about to die in the cold environment he had me live in. I should never have left Erik."

Mme. Giry hugged her. "Maybe you had to go through this experience first, so that you could mature, before you were able to fully appreciate Erik's love and to fully realize how much he means to you. And maybe Erik needed to get this chance at a different life, to learn that even for him it is possible to have a normal occupation, to live in a house like any other man, before he was ready to live a normal life with you. I am sure it all happened for a reason. If you had stayed with Erik three years ago, you both would probably now be living in that underground home of his, in perpetual darkness, without any sunshine."

Christine stared ahead pensively. "But we would have each other, we would be in love," she whispered. Mme. Giry grinned. "And now you are not?" she teased her new daughter. Christine did not reply, but she blushed deeply.

Xxxx

Erik was still fighting to deal with what had happened during the performance of "Il Muto" so long ago. He found it highly disconcerting that he had so easily killed a man – again. Even though Antoinette had assured him that he had killed the gypsy in self-defense and Nadir kept repeating to him that Erik himself had told him the same about this Buquet-person, he could not help but feel guilty for having taken these two lives. It was no small wonder that Christine had turned away from him that night. How could he ever expect her to love a murderer?

Erik sighed. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that he was undeserving of Christine. His ugliness was bad enough. Christine was beauty personified. She should have a handsome man at her side, somebody she could walk with in daylight, not a deformed monster she would have to hide from her friends and colleagues. Not a killer. Even though Erik had somehow accepted the fact that in both instances when he had killed, it had been his life or the other man's life, he was not so sure anymore that this fact justified what he had done. Who was he to decide that his life was worth more than that of his attacker? Who was he to end another man's life so that his own miserable existence could be prolonged?

Erik sighed. He was not entirely sure why he considered himself miserable, he certainly was not miserable now. He lived in a nice house, had a profession that he enjoyed and was good at, he made enough money to live very comfortably and he would easily be able to support a wife as well. He had a group of people that cared for him despite his horrible face and the misdeeds of his past – Nadir, Darius, Antoinette and especially Christine, who had as much as promised him a future with her. He had his loyal horse César and he had found his music again. If Erik was honest with himself, he had to admit that he was rather happy at the moment. Then why could he not shake this nagging feeling, this dread that he was overlooking something important, that despite all the evidence to the contrary his life was a miserable one.

Erik felt annoyed. Of course the memory of Christine in the Vicomte's arms exchanging declarations of love with the handsome boy was still very fresh on his mind, since he had remembered that scene only recently, but deep down he also knew that Christine had spoken the truth when she told him that she loved him. He had learned to read her pretty well in the short time since their reunion – or maybe he had instinctively remembered how to read her – so he was convinced that she truly cared for him more deeply than he had ever dared to hope. So that "betrayal", as she had called it, could not possibly be the reason why he considered himself to be miserable.

Then what? Erik frustratedly punched the table in front of him. He was only too familiar with this feeling. Many times over the past three years had he felt that way, as if an important memory were close to surface, as if he were to find another piece that would help him understand the puzzle of his existence, help him remember the person he had been before the accident.

"When will you have the drawings done for Lord Castleborough?" Nadir's voice interrupted Erik's brooding. Erik punched the table again. "How can I concentrate on my work," he roared, "with this uneasiness, these doubts in my mind?"

Nadir sighed. Erik definitely was in a dark mood again. He obviously missed Christine's presence, her soothing influence, even though he was anything but ready to learn more about his past. "Erik, please," he tried to calm his young friend.

Erik relented. "I do not understand how you can stand being around me, Nadir," he sighed. "I know I am terrible company right now, but I just learned that I killed two men, that the woman I love left me because of that, even though she has come back to me and forgiven me in the meantime, and I somehow cannot shake the feeling that there is more horror still lurking in the depths of my mind that I have not remembered yet or not been told yet, for deep down I am convinced that my life is a miserable one. True, I may have been traumatized at a very young age by that gypsy master and killing two people might weigh on my conscience as well, and having to relive the heart-break that Christine caused me so long ago has certainly put me in a somber mood, but despite all these things I am rather blessed."

Erik paused, looking at Nadir, pleading for an explanation. "My life _has_ been miserable," he finally stated. "Has it not? I may not remember the reason why, but I do remember the anguish, the pain, the deep sorrow."


	22. Reunion

So, there finally is the new chapter, and as requested, it contains some E/C-interaction (I would not want to cause you more torture and sorrow, Your Are Love!). Thank you all for your reviews and for reading this one and my other stories, as well as favoriting and alerting. It does inspire me, for even though this story still has a while to go, I have already had an idea for my next one, so, yes, more E/C to look forward to!

And to think that I have so many ideas what to do with these characters even though I do not own even one of them!

Chapter 21 – Reunion

Nadir sighed. "Does it really matter now what your life was like before your accident?" he asked softly. "Is it not much more important to appreciate what you have now?"

Erik turned away from his friend. "I have been telling myself that for the past hour or so," he groaned, "but I cannot shake the feeling that I can only be whole again once I remember everything. Even though I have begun to fear the return of my memories," he added dejectedly. "So far there have been considerably more horrors in my past than happy moments."

Nadir gently put a comforting hand on Erik's heaving shoulder. "These things lie in the past, Erik," he stated quietly, "do not let them dominate your thoughts now. Do not let them ruin your future. Do not occupy yourself too much with thoughts like these. Concentrate on the life you have now. Focus on the present and try to put the past behind you, once and for all."

"That's easier said than done," Erik retorted. Nadir nodded in understanding. "I know, Erik, I know," he said.

Xxxx

The weekend passed and Erik had not yet come to terms with the fact that he had killed Buquet. Nadir was more convinced than ever that Erik would never be able to resolve this on his own, that in order to get over this assassination he would need all his friends with him. He therefore sent Darius with a note to the Giry-household, reminding Antoinette and Christine that they had promised to come and take the tea with Nadir and Erik on Monday.

"He needs all the love and friendship in the world," Nadir had written. "Or he will never be able to accept the fact that there was nothing else he could have done when Buquet confronted him in the rafters."

Mme. Giry and Christine promised Darius that they would be there in time for tea. The loyal old servant let out a big sigh of relief. "Your presence will mean so much to master Erik," he said. "He has been so depressed lately, not his usual self." Both ladies smiled at him, deeply touched by the man's obvious concern for Erik's emotional wellbeing.

Once Darius had left, Christine threw herself into her new mother's arms. "Oh maman," she sobbed, "Erik is taking these things so terribly hard. How will he ever be able to deal with all his past?"

Mme. Giry patted her new daughter's back. "You would not love him if he took it any other way," she reminded Christine. "He is reacting that way, because despite all he has done he is a decent man, and now that he does not have to constantly defend himself and threaten others so that they may leave him alone, he realizes how wrong the things he did are."

Christine nodded. She knew that Mme. Giry was right. "I only wish I could help him, take some of the guilt he feels off his shoulders," she sighed. Mme. Giry hugged her. "You do help him," she said, "more than you realize. My and M. Khan's friendship are important, as is Darius' loyalty, but your love has more healing power than all our feelings for Erik combined. Your love will help him accept his past and put it behind him."

A tiny little smile played across Christine's features then her face fell. "If he can truly forgive me," she murmured somberly.

Xxxx

On Monday, once again, Nadir stopped by at the Giry-cottage on his way home from the office, to escort the ladies to his home. He had not told Erik that the ladies would be coming for tea. He hoped that the surprise, the fact that they were coming even though Erik had not told them yet that he was ready to learn more about his past, would prove to Erik without any doubt, that they cared about him and had been worried about how he was dealing with the recently remembered events from his past.

Erik was at his drawing board, trying hard to concentrate on designing a new wing to be added to Lord Castleborough's country house to accommodate the Lord's eldest son's growing family, when he heard the front door. He groaned. These drawings were due in two days and he was far from finished. With all he had on his mind it was hard to keep his thoughts on his work. Now Nadir was home and would want his tea and Erik would have to interrupt his work again. How would he ever manage to deliver these designs in time?

"Erik, where are you?" he heard Nadir's cheerful voice. "We have visitors!" Visitors! Erik sat straight. For one terrible moment he feared Nadir might have brought one or several strangers to their home. Then he relaxed. No, Nadir would not do that to him. Nadir had respected Erik's need to hide his deformed face from the world for the past three years, he would not force strangers on him now, that Erik was less prepared to deal with additional stress than at any point over these past years.

Therefore these visitors had to be the ladies. But how could they possibly be here? He had not told them that he felt ready to meet them again and expose himself to the risk of remembering further details from his past, which he now knew must have been one long, uninterrupted series of horrors. Any innocent comment made by either of them could spark a memory and Erik was not sure he would be able to deal with that just now.

And Christine! Erik did not know if he could face her. Would not seeing her again remind him of the pain she had caused him when he had watched her lying in this – boy's – arms?

Erik was still trying to decide what to do, when the door to his study opened and Nadir burst in. "There you are, Erik," he exclaimed jovially. "Now quick, wash your hands and come down for tea. It is not polite to make ladies wait!" Nadir chuckled as he noticed Erik's uneasiness.

"They are worried about you," he said softly. "They fear you hate yourself because of some of your past actions. They need to see with their own eyes that you are fine."

Erik sighed. "They are right," he moaned. "I do hate myself, and I cannot understand why they care about me despite the murders I have committed. Or why you and Darius care, for that matter. How can you all like me, me, a monster!"

Nadir patted Erik's shoulder. "We know that you are no monster," he said. "You are too hard on yourself. Now come, and meet your guests. The ladies are genuinely concerned about you."

Erik nodded absentmindedly. He quickly cleaned his ink-stained fingers and followed Nadir to the terrace where Darius had laid the table for tea and where the two ladies were waiting for him.

Christine noticed at once that Erik was still deeply troubled. He seemed less confident, less sure of himself, as if guilt was weighing him down. Yet the way how his eyes suddenly radiated love the moment he spotted her, gave her courage. He still loved her despite her betrayal, so there was hope that her love would be able to help him.

"Angel!" she sobbed, running to Erik and throwing herself into his waiting arms. "I missed you so much!" Erik pulled her close. The moment he held her in his arms he did not think of the night on the rooftop anymore. Forgotten was the Vicomte, Christine's betrayal and all his suffering. The only thing that counted was his love for Christine and the fact that she was there with him, comforting him.

"I missed you too," Erik confessed, "but I was not sure if I had the right to ask you to come back, to me, the killer."

Christine buried her face in his chest. "I told you, I would be back, once you are ready to meet me again," she said softly. "I have been waiting, and when you did not send for me, I have been so worried. I feared you might not want to see me again, that maybe you do not love me anymore…"

Erik groaned. "Not love you anymore! How can you expect me to ever stop loving you," he exclaimed. "It just seems so inconceivable to me that you could still want me, even though you know that I have killed before!"

Christine looked up at his ugly, deformed face and gently caressed his latest scar. "Many men have killed others," she said quietly. "Men kill to defend themselves and their loved ones, soldiers in order to defend their countries. I am not saying that it is right to kill somebody, but I am aware that sometimes there are no other options. Do you really think I could hold it against you that you did what was necessary to preserve your life, to keep yourself alive – for me."

Christine blushed deeply and Erik wrapped his arms even tighter around her. "My angel," he sighed. "My salvation. I do not know anymore how I could function without seeing you, those past few days. Your love, your trust in me, your conviction that there is some good in me despite those crimes, is what keeps me going. Christine, please, don't leave me alone any longer." Erik knelt down in front of her, holding her hands. "Please Christine," he begged. "Say that you will marry me."

Christine closed her eyes. She was incredibly happy and incredibly sad at the same time. Happy, because Erik loved her so much and had forgiven her the pain she had caused him when she had thrown herself at Raoul after Buquet's death, but also sad, because she knew that she could not accept his proposal just yet.

"I will marry you, Erik," she finally said, "once you know everything. I do believe that your love will be strong enough to survive whatever else you will have to remember, since you were able to forgive my transgressions with Raoul, but it would not be fair to bind you to me now, when there is still so much you are not aware of yet."

Erik sighed. "So there is more bad stuff to come," he murmured. "I knew it, I told Nadir that I had a feeling my life has been very miserable. He said, it does not matter, since the miserable part is now in the past. But is it truly in the past, if it keeps you from me in the presence?"

Christine smiled at him. "Not forever," she promised. "The past won't be able to keep us apart, unless you want it to. But you need to remember everything, so that you can deal with it properly and put it behind you, before our future can begin."

Nadir and Mme. Giry silently watched this emotional scene between their "children". If they had had any doubts that these two would one day be able to put the horrors and the pain of the past behind and start a new life together, the way how the couple treated each other, the deep love that shone in both their eyes would have resolved all those doubts.

They smiled at each other knowingly, then Nadir cleared his throat. "Are the two of you joining us for tea," he asked humorously, "or are you going to feed on words of love alone?"

Erik and Christine both blushed and sat down at the tea table. Erik felt better than he had since the ladies' last visit. As strange as it seemed to him, Christine most definitely loved him, even though she knew he had been responsible for the death of two men. Antoinette also smiled at him encouragingly, and made it quite clear that she was relieved to see him about to recover from the shock that remembering the events of the night of "Il Muto" had caused him.

"They can forgive me," Erik thought. "Therefore I must learn to forgive myself. And what Christine said, is true. Other men have killed as well. I am not the only one, and self-defense is not even punishable by law. Even if I had killed somebody in a duel in order to preserve my or my family's honor, I would go free. And even though I have killed before, it does not mean that I will do it again. I just have to do my best to prove to them that their faith in me is not misplaced. I will have to avoid situations that would put me in the need of defending myself, but since I do not leave the house anyway, I am probably safe. I won't have to kill again."

Erik glanced at Christine. She had promised to marry him once he'd remember everything. Erik did not know how much more there was that he did not yet remember, but he suddenly felt a rush to remember as much as possible a quickly as possible. Yes, those memories would probably be painful and he did not relish the prospect of having to come to terms with even more unsavory details of his past, but there would be a reward. As soon as he had gone through the ordeal and accepted his past, all of it, Christine would be finally his.

Erik took a deep breath to steel himself for whatever else he would learn and asked, "so, what else do I need to know before you will marry me, Christine? Please tell me, as quickly as possible, so that we can put the past to rest."

Christine bit her lip. What could she say? Was he ready to hear more about her and Raoul? Could she tell him about the masquerade or their visit to her father's grave which had ended in a sword-fight between him and the Vicomte?

Nadir noticed her obvious discomfort and came to her aid. "Maybe we should start at the very beginning," he suggested, "with your childhood."

Erik gave him an uncertain look. "My childhood?" he asked surprised. "I thought we had already covered that. Did I not live with the gypsies until Antoinette helped me escape?"

Nadir shook his head. "That is part of your childhood," he corrected Erik, "there was more."

Erik's eyes widened. He suddenly remembered something Nadir had told him long ago, shortly after his accident. "I am not a gypsy," he uttered. "I was born into a middle class French family, hence my French surname. You even mentioned my hometown to me once, what was it? Bochebourg or something?"

"Boscherville," Nadir confirmed. "It is a small town in the vicinity of Rouen. Erik, I do not know all the details about your early childhood, but I do remember a few things that I have learned from you over the years. Before you lost your memory," he added softly.

Erik nodded. "What do you know about my early childhood, about my family?" He asked.

Nadir concentrated. Telling Erik about his mother's neglect was not easy, but he had a feeling that Erik would be better able to handle this part of his past than any of the other revelations they would have to make in the very near future. "You never mentioned your father," he finally said, "which is why I assume he must have died early on, either before you were born or when you were still too young to remember him. His name was Charles Lavoisier, you told me once that your mother used to refer to him as 'my dear departed Charles'. Your mother Madeleine was fairly young for a widow, and in your opinion she was extremely beautiful."

Erik nodded. He remembered her now, lovely face, dark clothes, but eyes as cold as ice ad as hard as stone. "She forced me to wear a mask," Erik mumbled, "even when I was a baby and did not yet understand that I was different. She could not bear to look at me…"

Christine grasped his hand. "Yes," she sobbed. "You told me once that your mask was the first item of clothing she ever gave you. How could she treat you like that!" Christine felt indignant. How could a mother do that to an innocent baby?

Erik shrugged his shoulders. "I cannot blame her," he whispered sadly. "Imagine her shock, having waited for her baby for so long, having endured all the inconveniences of pregnancy and the torture of giving birth, and then, instead of a child, a healthy infant, a little monster slips out of your womb…"

Christine slapped his arm. "Stop that," she said angrily. "Stop thinking of yourself as a monster. You are a human being like everybody else, you have the same rights as everybody else and that does include the right to your parents' love. Since your father may never have met you or died too soon to have any influence on your development, he is excused. Your mother, however, most definitely is not. She should have loved you no matter what. After all, you obviously were a strong and healthy baby despite your face, since you survived even though she does not seem to have taken proper care of you. Putting a mask on an infant!" Christine shuddered. She felt as if she would personally strangle the late Mme. Lavoisier for having neglected Erik so badly in his formative years, if the woman were still alive.

"She probably wanted to spare people the sight of my disgusting face," Erik made a weak attempt to defend his mother.

"She had no right to do that." Mme. Giry's voice was dripping with contempt for the woman that had ignored her precious, highly talented offspring because of something that was not the child's fault. "No mother has the right to treat her child like that. I am a mother myself, and of course, before Meg was born I also wondered, what would I do if something was amiss with my baby, if the child were somehow ill or handicapped…" She looked at Erik. "You know there are cases when children are born that have serious defects that affect their ability to function normally, babies with no arms or legs, babies that are blind or deaf or even mentally incapacitated. But even they deserve and need their parents' love. None of this is the case with you, though. Your case is far less severe. Despite your face you are able to function normally, you are able to make a living, you do have friends. If you always feel like somewhat of a lesser being it's her fault and hers alone. Your mother is to blame for most, if not all of your problems. By denying you her love she made you feel undeserving of it."

Erik stared at Antoinette, as he whispered forlornly, "she did not want to kiss me, not even on my birthday…"


	23. Ghost

Yay, I am one day early! I really felt creative this week. Thank you all for reading, alerting and favoriting, and especially for the great reviews! A very heartfelt welcome to my new readers as well. This time, special kudos goes to FlorenceAndTheMachineFan for being the first one ever to express themselves in a short poem! And CaptainHooksGirl, I am flattered by your praise, but I am hardly the best author around here, I have read some truly *amazing* stories on this site!

I have decided to give you all a bonus, if we surpass the magical 200-reviews-threshold with this chapter by posting the first chapter of my next story, which will be titled "When we've said good-bye". So, if you want to read that...

Anyway, just as a reminder, I do not own any of these fascinating characters or their backstory. Sigh!

Chapter 22 – Ghost

"She was a cruel, heartless person," Christine commented. "She should have been proud of you, loved you and nurtured your many talents as well as given you the strength to deal with your handicap and face the world, instead she made you believe that you are somehow a lesser being because of your face."

Erik sighed. "How could she have been proud of me?" he asked bitterly, pointing to his face. "In case you have forgotten, I am not a pretty sight!"

Christine got furious. "So you would not win any beauty contest," she said. "But then, how many people do? But you would easily win contests for best composer, for best violinist, pianist, opera singer, voice coach or architect, and I hear you are a decent magician as well. How many mothers have children that excel in so many areas?" She composed herself, before adding softly, "and you have a heart. You felt compassion for me, when I was so lonely after my father died, you cared for me and helped me deal with my loss. Your face is only one facet of who you are, it does not define you as a human being."

Erik beamed at her. "Oh Christine, you remind me of those princesses in the fairy-tales, whose love breaks the spell that lies on the prince. I read a story once, about a beast that forced a beautiful young woman to stay with him. She was afraid of the beast at first, but then noticed some good about him, and in the end, she learned to love him, and the spell was broken, the beast turned into a man. She must have been just like you, able – and willing - to see something good even in the most hideous monster."

Christine smiled at Erik. "If I hear the word monster one more time, I think I'll scream," she teased him.

Erik looked at her lovingly. Who cared about how his mother had felt about him? His Christine thought he was a man, a wonderful, warm-hearted one with many talents. That's what counted. He would try to focus on that.

"But how did I end up with the gypsies?" Erik finally asked. "Did they abduct me, when they caught a glimpse of me and realized that they could use me in their freak show?"

Nadir shook his head. "As far as I know, you ran away. I think your mother had decided to institutionalize you, or her new lover wanted to lock you safely away in an asylum of sorts, but you got wind of their plans and left. You were of course far too young to live on your own and thus fell easy prey to the gypsies."

Erik's face hardened. "She is dead now, isn't she?"

Nadir nodded. "Yes. A couple years ago you made inquiries in your hometown and learned that she had died a lonely death."

"Serves her right," Erik stated flatly, fighting hard to keep both, his anger at his mother for having treated him so poorly, and the pain her neglect had caused him, under control. "Good riddance."

Mme. Giry put a comforting hand on Erik's shoulder. "She could have been so happy, with a son like you, but she was not able to appreciate you. She was too preoccupied with appearances to understand how very special you are. We do understand. At least, I understand now, for Erik, when I helped you escape from the gypsies, I was too young to fully grasp the extent of your ordeal, and I was most certainly unable to realize how emotionally starved you were back then. I thought a roof above your head, food, water, clean clothes etc. was all you needed, when what you would have needed most would have been a family to love you. I did love you, Erik, I always thought of you as my brother, but I am afraid, I did not act much like a sister. I did not show you my love enough, and I did not even realize how ingrained in your mind the idea was that you are a monster."

Erik seemed embarrassed. He was not used to so much love being lavished on him from all sides. "We were children then, Antoinette," he mumbled. "You did all you could, you saw to it that I had everything I needed."

He frowned, as one of his lost memories surfaced. "What was that place you brought me to?" he asked. "It was like a cellar or an underground cavern. I remember a dark, damp place, strong stone walls and water nearby, a river or … a lake?"

Mme. Giry paled. Was Erik ready for the answer to that question? "The…" she hesitated, before continuing, "the Opéra Populaire."

Erik stared. "The Opéra Populaire," he muttered. "I lived below the opera building. I hid from the authorities?"

Mme. Giry nodded. "I lived in the dormitories there, I was training to become a ballerina. Of course I could not have brought you to my dormitory with me, and I was not certain if the police would be looking for you, because of that gypsy…" Her voice trailed.

Erik sighed. "A wanted criminal – and a child," he stated flatly.

Mme. Giry did not quite dare to meet Erik's eyes. "I did not blame you for what you had done," she said resolutely, "but I had no idea what the law was, if you could be held responsible. It never occurred to me to try and find out, so, since I wanted you to be safe, you had to hide, and of course this enforced your opinion that you were somewhat of a lesser being – and that the reason for it was your face."

Erik barely listened. "I lived in the cellars of the Opéra," he whispered, as realization hit him. "I did not have a room there. Never. I always hid." He stared at Christine. "You told me I brought you to my home once, did I not? I actually had the gall to drag you down into that damp, chilly cellar? And you were not frightened? A man wearing a mask dragging a girl to the cellars, where nobody would hear her scream if he…" Erik stopped, embarrassed.

"Your home was beautiful," Christine's hand reached for Erik's while she smiled at him. "There was a vast, underground lake, you had a gorgeous boat there to cross the lake, for your home was on the other side, safely protected by a portcullis, and there were candles all around, it was not dark or frightening in the least, rather fairy-tale-like and extremely romantic." She blushed, as she remembered the mannequin, that looked exactly like her and was wearing a wedding dress.

"You had a pipe organ down there," she continued, "and everything looked regal. The colors of red and gold were dominant, with some black. There was a huge, bird-shaped bed…"

Erik stared at her. "I was a ghost," he whispered. "I was not an employee. I lived on the fringes of the opera community, I hid in the cellars, and I…" he gasped. "I forced the managers to do as I pleased. I told them who to hire and which plays to perform, and I extorted a salary…"

Mme. Giry went over to where Erik was sitting and shook him to get his attention. "Don't get all worked up about that now, Erik. First, your intervention vastly improved the quality of our ensemble and the performances. They did get their money's worth from you. I know enough about music and theater to be able to judge that, and I had already been there before you started to give directions. I know what difference your influence made. And second, if I had been against what you did, I would not have helped you."

Erik stared at her. "You helped me…" he whispered, then realization hit him. "The letters," he stammered, "my notes to the managers, you delivered them."

Mme. Giry smiled. "Yes, among other things. I also did most of your grocery shopping for you and ran similar errands." She smiled. "I am like your sister, remember?"

Then she turned more serious. "I will admit that what we did was a bit unorthodox, but you were so convinced that your face would keep you from earning your living any other way, that I could not think of an alternative and went along with your plan. It did not seem wrong to me, after all, you were acting as some kind of artistic advisor and got paid for that."

"But I frightened people," Erik remembered with a shudder.

"Nothing really bad," Mme. Giry assured him. "What you did was more like pranks. Any serious accidents would have disrupted the smooth operation of the theater way too much. You only did little things to keep the managers in line and ensure that they would follow your orders. Really, Erik," she said teasingly. "Lefevre was not so bad, but Firmin and André were clueless how to run a theater. Not that I could blame them," she added. "After all, they had made a fortune in the junk business. Why on earth they thought that would mean they were qualified to manage a prestigious opera house is beyond me. They most definitely needed your guidance."

Erik smiled. He had a vague memory of the various managers now. "One of them was rather passionate about music," he remembered. "The shorter one."

Both Christine and Mme. Giry smiled at each other. They both had noticed just how enthralled M. André had been by Christine's debut performance.

"That was André," Mme. Giry explained, "his knowledge about management was even more fragmentary than Firmin's, but you certainly can't say that he lacked enthusiasm."

A frown crossed Erik's forehead and he looked at Christine, unease written all over his features. "Your debut," he whispered. "The lead soprano was not indisposed, I scared her off, made her quit, so that you could sing."

Christine nodded. She had always wondered if without Erik's intervention she would have ever been allowed to sing a main role. "Yes, but,…" she began hesitantly.

"Our ears thanked you for that, Erik," Mme. Giry jumped in. "La Carlotta may have been a great singer once, but that time had long passed. The constant screaming during her frequent temper tantrums did not help either. Her voice was beginning to sound like screeching. It was high time she got replaced as first soprano and relegated to the background."

Erik shook his head. "No, I should not have done that," he mumbled miserably. "I threw a piece of scenery at her. She could have been seriously injured…"

Mme. Giry put her hand on Erik's shoulder. "You knew exactly what you were doing, Erik," she said calmly. "You knew that she was in no danger whatsoever. You had planned the trajectory of that backdrop. You never hurt anybody, at worst they got a scare or a prank played on them."

"Until Buquet…" Erik's face had turned white. "That's why I killed him. He tried to hunt me down and make the interference stop…"

Mme. Giry sighed. "He wanted to play the hero, to single-handedly arrest the so-called "Phantom". I guess he hoped that then the girls would be easier lured into his bed. Yes, he was that kind of a person," her voice was heavy with contempt for the dead stagehand.

Then she composed herself and turned to Erik again. "It was a difficult situation," she explained. "If Buquet did something that would make it impossible for you to continue, your livelihood would have been threatened, since we could not think of another way for you to earn your living. Because of your own precarious status you could not go to the authorities and ask for help against the stalker. True, you could have left the Opera for a while, but where would you have gone? You were not ready to live aboveground, you were so convinced that people would abuse , fear, mistreat you because of your face. And then, you would not have wanted to leave Christine, when she finally had had her major breakthrough and needed your continued guidance in order to maintain her newfound star status."

She squeezed Erik's shoulder. "It was not your fault," she said softly. "There was nothing you could have done. I tried to warn him off, but he did not listen. I knew that sooner or later it would come to a confrontation between the two of you, and I was worried. Erik, you have no idea, how every time you had not been in touch for more than two days, I was wondering if he had gotten to you at last …" She smiled encouragingly at Erik. "I do not approve of killing," she said softly, "but till this day I do not know what we could have done differently."

Erik sighed. "It still was wrong to kill him," he stated. "I should have found another solution." He looked at Mme. Giry. "But thank you, Antoinette, for both, your support then and your attempt now to excuse my crimes and make my actions sound more harmless than they really were."

Christine leaned her head against his shoulder. "We know that you take it hard, Erik," she said, "which is exactly why we are convinced that you are a decent person despite Buquet and everything."

An uneasy smiled passed across Erik's grotesque features. "I will never understand how you can love me despite my crimes," he whispered, "but I am grateful that you do." He looked deep into her eyes and Christine blushed under his adoring gaze.

Then Erik remembered once again that he had forced Carlotta to step aside so that Christine could have her debut. "Do you mind,.." he began hesitantly. "I mean, I helped you get your chance at singing a major role. Did you ever feel like you had your debut only because I pushed for it, not because you had earned it? Have you ever wondered about that? For I assure you, if anybody ever deserved such an opportunity, it is you. Your voice is truly exceptional, your timbre as well as the ease with which you reach the highest notes, or your expressive versatility."

Christine blushed. "When it happened, I mean, when that piece of scenery dropped on Carlotta, I did not know yet that my Angel of Music and the famous Opera Ghost were one and the same person. I was only nervous when I was suddenly given the responsibility to sing that important role, which is of such central importance to the story of 'Hannibal', and at a gala performance, to boost. But once I was on stage and started singing, nothing else mattered anymore, I became Elyssa. I knew I was where I belonged. And the applause told me that the audience felt the same way."

She smiled lovingly at Erik. "And then, even if I had known that it had been you who had provided me with that opportunity, I would not have doubted that I had earned it. My Angel was a wonderful teacher, but he was always striving for perfection. He would never have allowed me to sing in public if he had not been a hundred percent certain that I would excel."

Erik nodded. "But what about now?" he asked. "Surely, there will have been talk about how you got your first singing job? Does the fact that I pushed you affect you negatively?"

Christine gazed at Mme. Giry. "I do not know for sure," she told Erik. "I have not sung in three years, which is why I asked you to bring me up to speed again, but there certainly is that possibility, which is, why, once I will audition at the London Opera, I will do so under my new name. I have the right to call myself Christine Giry, since I am now officially Mme. Giry's daughter, through adoption." She smiled at Erik teasingly. "Of course, if they hire me now, some might think it is because I am the sister of their new second ballerina Meg Giry."

Erik looked up at Mme. Giry. "Meg is second ballerina at the Opera? Why didn't you tell us before, Antoinette? You must be so proud of your daughter! Both your daughters," he added as an afterthought, "for Christine is almost ready to return to the stage, soon they will be performing together again." He paused, then added softly, "thank you for giving Christine your name so that she will not be harmed by my influence on her career."

Mme. Giry smiled at Erik, then beamed with pride. "Yes, Meg has been cast as Myrtha, Queen of the Willis in the upcoming production of 'Gisèle'. In fact," she looked at Erik and Nadir, "opening night is in three days, and as a courtesy to Meg at her introductory performance, she has been offered a box so that her family and friends can watch her first triumph at the London Opera. Christine and I are definitely going, but I am sure Meg would be thrilled if you could come as well."

Erik looked away. "If Nadir wants to accompany you and Christine, so that the two of you will not have to be without male protection, … but I cannot."

Christine rested her head on Erik's shoulder and wrapped an arm around his waist. "And why not, Erik?" she asked softly. "You do not have to socialize or even meet people. We go all together, you may wear your hat if you prefer, we arrive very close to the beginning of the performance, so we just rush to the box, the corridors of a theater are not all too well lit, and during the performance the auditorium is in the dark anyway, nobody will see you, especially if you sit behind maman and me." Christine glanced at her new mother, before continuing to plead with Erik. "We stay in our box during the intermission and afterwards we wait till most other people have left, then quietly make our exit. Nadir hails us a carriage, and we go all home together. It is possible, Erik, and it would be great. Meg would love having us all there, and think about it, we could be in a theater again, like in the old days. And," she blushed before admitting, "it would mean so much to me to have you there with me, to share that experience with you…"

Erik was about to tell her that this plan was downright madness, when he noticed the loving, pleading expression of her eyes. He shrugged, in defeat. How was he supposed to resist her, when she looked at him like that? "I will consider it," he finally muttered, both thrilled at the prospect of being in a theater again and scared at the thought that he would have to leave the safety of his home.


	24. Opera

YAY! We did it! We surpassed the 200 reviews! Thank you all for your feed-back and thank you to all who have already checked out my new story as well and to all those who are only now discovering my previous stories!

And yes, I promise there will be more fluff in this story before it is over, and kisses and I do's and whatnot. But there will also be some heartache in store for our lovebirds before everything will be resolved.

I still don't own anything or anybody, but I guess you already know that.

Chapter 23 – Opera

As soon as the ladies had left, Erik started ranting. He was in a particularly bad mood, for he felt kind of trapped. He either could stay home at opening night and disappoint Christine as well as Antoinette, or he had to go with them and risk being exposed as a freak by London society, considered a beast and treated accordingly.

"Why did you not come to my aid?" he seethed at Nadir. "Why could you not make them understand how impossible that idea of theirs was? Surely you know that I cannot do what they ask of me?"

Nadir smiled at Erik. "And why not, mon ami?" he asked lightly. "Mademoiselle Christine's plan sounds good to me. If we go as a group you can hide in our midst. It is high-time for you anyway to overcome this fear of people."

Erik sneered. "They would have a field-day hunting me down and locking the monster away, if they caught only a glimpse of my so-called face…"

Nadir shook his head. "No, Erik," he uttered, "don't do that to you. Do not always expect the worst. While I admit that your looks might be a shock to most, at least at first, I do know that many people are able to realize that that's not your fault and to respect you for whatever else you have to offer. Remember, I have tried repeatedly to encourage you to leave the house during day-time. But maybe an evening event is the best way to test the waters. After all, you cannot stay home all the time once you and Mademoiselle Christine get married, or don't you think it will look strange if she wears a wedding ring and mentions a husband and nobody ever sees him?"

Erik did not know what to say. He had not thought about that yet. After a while Nadir continued. "You know, I don't think it will be that bad, even if you wear that stupid hat of yours. For even if some may wonder why you are wearing this impossible garment, nobody will really care, if he sees you in the company of the two ladies. A strangely-dressed man alone might seem suspicious and attract unwanted attention and stares , but if he is seen with two lovely ladies, that are as smitten with him as Mme. Giry and Mademoiselle Christine are with you, people will just think that you are eccentric."

Erik sighed. "I do not understand what these women see in me," he mumbled confused. "Either of them. Antoinette took me completely by surprise today. I know that she downplayed my time at the Opéra Populaire, and I do not think she did it to ease her own conscience for helping me. No," he frowned. "I had the feeling that she wanted to make it easy for me to accept that part of my past."

Nadir nodded. "I think you are right on that," he agreed with Erik, "though I guess, what you did there was not really too bad. Definitely not within the law, but… she _was_ right. You did work for your money and your advice was always sound. The threats and pranks of course are something else entirely and would have gotten you into trouble if caught. But,…" he looked his friend straight into the eyes. "I knew about what you were doing as well, and I didn't stop you any more than she did. If you want to feel guilty about that period of your life, make sure to put some blame on us as well for condoning your actions."

Erik nodded. He was not quite convinced, but he was deeply moved by his friends' attempts to help him deal with his past.

Nadir smiled at him encouragingly. "So, have you decided on the ballet? Will you come with us and help us cheer for Mademoiselle Meg?"

Erik stared ahead. The thought of going to such a crowded place as a theater frightened him, but something Nadir had said had hit a nerve. "You think that once Christine finally agrees to marry me, I will have to go out and meet people?" he asked nervously.

Nadir chuckled. "Of course. She cannot be married to an invisible husband. If nobody ever meets him, people might even think she is only pretending to be married, which would lead to gossip. You do not want to get her into such an undesirable position, right?"

Erik shook his head. "No, Nadir, of course not, but…"

Nadir put a comforting hand on Erik's shoulder. "You will be fine, Erik," he assured his friend. "Believe me, nobody will pay much attention, they will only see that you are part of a group with two lovely ladies."

Xxxx

The evening of Meg's first performance finally arrived. Nadir had ordered a carriage, and he and Erik got in without the driver noticing anything strange about Erik's face. They stopped again at the Giry-cottage to pick up Mme. Giry and Christine. Both ladies had dressed up for the occasion and Erik had never found Christine more beautiful than when he first spotted her in her pale green robe the color of which seemed to bring out the deep dark brown of her eyes even more and make them sparkle like two stars.

"You look absolutely fabulous," he stammered, overwhelmed by the sheer perfection that was sitting next to him.

Christine blushed. She thought that Erik looked rather dashing as well in his elegant evening clothes. "I wanted to look beautiful for you tonight," she admitted shyly. "I know what a huge effort it took for you to come with us, and I wanted to somehow thank you for doing this."

Erik beamed. Even though so far everything had gone exactly as planned, he was still nervous about this adventure, but he was beginning to think that maybe accompanying the ladies had not been such a bad idea after all. It definitely did have its perks.

They had scheduled their arrival at the Opera so that they would just barely have time to reach their box before the performance began. Therefore they only met very few other late-comers in the corridors of the theater, who were all too busy rushing to their own seats to pay any attention to Erik, who nevertheless sighed with relief once they had safely arrived at their assigned box.

Christine and Mme. Giry sat in the front row, thus providing enough cover for Erik, who hid behind Christine's elaborate hairdo. Nadir sat at Erik's right side. Even before Erik could take off his hat – which he was reluctant to do anyway – the theater went dark and the conductor entered.

Christine half-turned to face Erik. "I am so excited to be in a theater again," she said. "I was not even aware how much I had missed this until now. Do you feel the same way?"

Erik smiled at her enthusiasm, but he had to agree that his heart, too, was beating faster with the thrill of attending a live performance once again. "It feels like home," he admitted, to which Christine nodded happily.

Home. Despite all the problems they had faced at the Opéra Populaire three years ago, despite the emotional turmoil they both had gone through there, that theater had been their home. They were used to the constant buzz, the music, the sets, the colorful costumes – this was their world and they both felt the rush of adrenaline when the music began to play and the curtain rose.

Even though Meg would only appear in the second part, after the interval, all four sets of eyes were glued to the scene. Both, Mme. Giry and Christine were extremely interested in the London ballet ensemble's level of quality. Meg had already told them that the young ballerinas were working extremely hard, and that the ballet mistress, a Russian lady, had danced in St. Petersburg for the choreographer Marius Petipa, who was about to make a name for himself.

Both ladies had to admit that the corps de ballet was indeed excellent. Whenever there was a group dance, the movements were synchronous and fluid, while every single solo dance was executed to perfection. The prima ballerina's technique was flawless, her dancing inspired. Mme. Giry and Christine looked at each other, impressed. The London ballet ensemble was every bit as talented as the one at the Opéra Populaire had been. To think that their Meg had been considered good enough to earn a solo part, when every single one of the ballerinas was above average, was indeed a huge achievement.

"Do you enjoy the performance?" Christine asked Erik at the interval.

He nodded. "The orchestra is quite capable," Erik explained. "Adolphe Adam may not have been the most inspired composer, but they are able to imbue his music with passion and feelings. I am looking forward to the second part with its more spooky scenes involving the supernatural. I think they will be able to convey a ghostly atmosphere when the Willis appear." He smiled at Christine, then continued. "I am not too impressed with the set designer, though," he added. "The first act scenery should be lush and green, very vivid, to provide a stark contrast to the pale, moonlit nocturnal scenes of the second act."

Christine smiled. "It seems like this theater could do with your advice as well," she said, looking adoringly at Erik. She was proud of him, of his many talents, his expertise in so many areas, and of his courage to face his own demons and accompany her and Mme. Giry tonight.

The second act began and Meg finally made her appearance. Mme. Giry and Christine gasped. They almost would not have recognized her. Neither of them had seen Meg dance since they had moved to London, and apparently she had improved tremendously over these past few weeks. She did not only look the part of Myrta, she also conveyed it perfectly through every movement. Her hair swept up in a chignon, a glittering crown on her head, her face and arms painted pale, her short dress a ghostly white, this Queen of the Willis commanded the scene from the moment she first appeared.

Meg's movements were regal and elegant, while at the same time conveying the unearthly, supernatural element of her character. Mme. Giry held her breath. She had always known that her daughter was incredibly talented, but not in her wildest dreams had she expected her to do that well. "She truly is prima ballerina material," the proud mother thought to herself. "Sooner or later she will dance the lead role."

As soon as the curtain fell, the audience started to applaud. The new production was a huge success, especially the two ballerinas, Meg and the girl who had danced the title role, were greeted with roaring applause when they took their bows. Mme. Giry had tears in her eyes, so moved was she by her daughter's achievement. Christine was smiling happily, but there was also a bit of envy in her. She knew how it felt to stand on a stage and bring a character to life, and how gratifying it was to feel the audience's enthusiastic reaction afterwards.

Erik seemed to understand her. "Soon," he murmured into her ear. "I promise you that you will soon be ready to audition and then you will be able to return to the stage as well."

Christine smiled at him. "I hope that then you will come and listen to my performance as well, my Angel," she said.

Erik looked deep into her eyes. "I will," he said. And he meant it. Coming to the theater had not been as terrible as he had feared. While he still did not plan on leaving the house on a regular basis, Erik began to think that it would be possible to organize similar events in the future.

Once the applause died down and the audience started to leave, Nadir faced his three companions. "I suppose, Erik, that you will want to go home now," he asked, "and that you do not want to meet Mademoiselle Meg at her dressing room and join the opening night party."

Erik shuddered. Attending the performance was one thing, but mingling with the crowd – no, he definitely was not ready for that.

"I think we shall all go home," Mme. Giry suggested. "I doubt Meg will have time for us tonight anyway, she will have to meet lots of people, maybe even give an interview, or two, for the newspapers will want to report on her tomorrow after this fabulous debut."

Christine agreed with her. She would not have left Erik's side until he was home and thus not in danger anymore of being treated poorly because of his face. She did feel responsible for his safety, since he had come along to please her.

"Then let's head out," Nadir suggested, offering his arm to Mme. Giry. He looked at Erik and Christine. "Of course it would be more appropriate for the two of you to walk in front of us, so that Mme. Giry could act as Christine's chaperone and watch the two of you," he said jokingly, "but we trust you, and I have a feeling as if you would want to hide behind us, Erik, even though you already have an enormous hat to hide behind."

All four laughed and left the box to make their way towards the theater's exit. They had almost reached the front door, when someone called Nadir's name.

"Mr. Khan! I did not know you were a theater enthusiast as well!" A well-dressed elderly gentleman stood in front of them and seemed delighted to meet Nadir.

"Lord Castleborough," Nadir immediately recognized the wealthy customer, for whom Erik had drafted a beautiful design only this week. He hesitated for a moment, not quite sure, how to react. He could not ignore the Lord, for that would not be good for business. Their little office needed happy, satisfied customers if they wanted to get more orders. But he could almost sense Erik's growing uneasiness.

"Erik will never forgive me for this," he thought, "he will probably throw a tantrum at home, but there really is only one course of action, if I want to stay on friendly terms with the Lord."

Nadir smiled engagingly at Lord Castleborough. "It is a pleasure meeting you, Mylord," he said. "May I present my companions to you?"

The Lord nodded and Nadir went on. "This is Mme. Antoinette Giry, whose daughter Marguerite has been dancing the part of Myrta," he explained, noticing that the Lord was obviously impressed by the fact that Nadir knew the new ballerina's mother. Then Nadir turned towards Christine and Erik and continued, "Mademoiselle Christine Giry, the ballerina's sister, and my good friend and business partner, Monsieur Erik Lavoisier."

Nadir noticed that Erik had turned a deathly shade of pale, and that he was highly nervous. He looked as if he wanted to sink into the earth, or run away as fast as he could, but unable to decide which of the two he should try first. Christine was clinging to Erik's arm as if by doing so she could somehow protect him against the whole world. She forced a smile on her face and slightly bowed her head at the Lord.

Whatever Erik or any of his three companions had feared, though, none of them could say later. But neither of them had expected to see Lord Castleborough stare at Nadir, wide-eyed, and ask, "Lavoisier? Did you say Lavoisier? You mean the architect? The genius who designed the new wing for my house?"

Nadir felt relief wash through him. The Lord had not made any comment about Erik's rather impolite attitude of keeping his hat on. He did not seem to notice either, that Erik was not facing him directly but had turned slightly so that the Lord would only see his left profile.

Nadir smiled broadly. "Yes, Mylord, this gentleman here is the architect who delivered the designs for you," he explained, pointing in Erik's direction.

"Oh Mr. Lavoisier," the Lord turned to Erik now, extending his hand. "It is an honor meeting you at last. Allow me to shake your hand and to personally thank you for the absolutely delightful sketches you have done for me. You truly have a great gift. I have wanted to meet you for so long. Every time I came to the office, I hoped that maybe this time you would be there with Mr. Khan."

Erik gingerly took the Lord's hand and shook it. He was very ill at ease and did not trust the nobleman despite his friendly demeanor. "Pleased to meet you, Mylord," he said stiffly, fighting the impulse to run and hide somewhere - anywhere.

Christine patted Erik's arm encouragingly. She already liked the Lord for the kind words he had spoken to her Angel.

The Lord seemed to notice Erik's unease, for he turned to Mme. Giry and Christine. "Madam, Miss," he said, "let me congratulate you on having such a highly talented daughter and sister. Miss Marguerite Giry impressed everybody tonight. She is most certainly on the same level as Miss Gainsworth, the prima ballerina, and only had to accept the position of second since she is the newcomer. In one of the next productions she will dance the lead, I am sure."

Mme. Giry smiled. "Thank you for your kind words, Mylord," she said. "We are indeed very proud of Meg."

The Lord then addressed the whole group. "Mr. Lavoisier, Ladies, it was a pleasure making your acquaintance. Mr. Khan, thank you so much for introducing me. I would be delighted to invite you all to take tea with me one of these days, and of course Miss Marguerite as well. Please let me know which day would be convenient for all of you, I suggest sometime next week, maybe Thursday or Friday?"

Nadir looked uneasily at Erik, then at the two ladies. "Thank you very much for your kind invitation," he finally said. "We will of course have to consult with Mademoiselle Marguerite to find a suitable date. We will get back to you."

The Lord accepted this rather vague answer and took his leave while the other four turned towards the exit. Nadir hailed a carriage. Once they were inside, Erik sneered. "No," he said. "Absolutely no. This is my final answer. It was a mistake coming here. I knew something terrible would happen. If you want to go see the Lord, fine. Tell him I am indisposed, sick, whatever you want. But don't expect me to come along."


	25. The Lord

Thank you everybody for reviewing, reading, alerting, favoriting this story, as well as my other ones. I truly appreciate each and every one of you and your support!

Here is the next chapter, and I hope you like the direction it takes.

And just a quick reminder that I don't own anything or anybody, except maybe this Lord, who has revealed himself as being an Erik-fanboy. ;-)

Chapter 24 – The Lord

Nadir smiled. "I do not think that the Lord would have invited us if it were not for you," he reminded Erik. "He did seem quite impressed with meeting you."

Erik glared at him furiously. "Why on earth did you have to introduce me? If you wanted to make small-talk with the Lord, you could have left me alone," he seethed.

Christine, who was sitting next to Erik, patted his arm affectionately. "Your friend did not really have a choice," she explained. "Lord Castleborough saw that Monsieur Khan was not alone, it would therefore have been extremely impolite not to introduce us all."

Erik sighed. "If he absolutely had to, he should have introduced Antoinette only. We were walking behind them and could have pretended not to be with them."

Nadir chuckled. "And how exactly were you planning to do that?" he teased Erik. "I did not have the impression as if you were about to leave the protective screen of our backs."

Erik groaned. He knew he had lost this particular argument. Nadir was right. He would not have walked away like that, not even with his hat on.

"It was not that bad," Christine tried to sooth him. "I am certain Lord Castleborough did not notice anything unusual about your face, and he did say some nice words about your work. Were you not pleased that he is so impressed with the sketches you did for him?"

Erik squirmed. He felt betrayed by all his friends. Did they not understand how utterly dangerous it was for him to be seen in public with a face like his? Did they not know how much he had suffered already because of that sorry excuse of a face? Memories of his loveless childhood, of the abuse he had suffered at the hands of the gypsies, of the pain he had felt when he had seen Christine and that Vicomte of hers together on the roof of the Populaire assaulted him. No, he knew how the world would treat somebody like him if they realized what he was. As long as nobody had ever seen the architect Lavoisier, he could hope for a normal life, or at least for a life that was close enough to normal, but once they knew... he shuddered.

"Erik, don't think that we do not understand your point," Antoinette smiled at him. "We do love you, I hope you know that. But there really was not much Mr. Khan could have done, once this customer of yours recognized him. And as Christine has just mentioned, there is no harm done. He did not see your face. As to the invitation he kindly extended to all of us, you do not have to decide right now. We said we would have to check with Meg. We won't be able to talk to her before tomorrow morning, then maybe she has to check with somebody at the theater, which of the suggested days she could get off easier, so we might not even know for sure before tomorrow night, and therefore the earliest we can talk to Lord Castleborough about this is the day after tomorrow. We are not forcing you to come along. If you prefer, we will excuse you. But I want you to at least give it a thought. It is not healthy for you to live such an isolated life, especially if you do want to marry Christine. She will need a husband that accompanies her on occasion."

Erik groaned. "Nadir has mentioned that already," he admitted. "I understand what you mean, but..."

"I know how hard this is for you," Christine chimed in, smiling at Erik. "And I am therefore not going to push you. Take your time. That you came with us tonight was a step in the right direction, but only the first one. Many such steps will be necessary over time. I will leave it up to you, though, when you will be ready to take the next one." She squeezed Erik's hand to show her support.

Erik looked at her. He knew he was nowhere near ready to face Lord Castleborough again any time soon, but Christine's eyes were like silent pleas, and he did not think he could resist her if she looked at him like that.

"I will get myself used to the idea that I will have to go out and face strangers for your sake, my love," Erik finally stammered. "I... I am just not sure I will be ready next week."

Christine nodded. "That's fine with me," she assured him. "As long as you at least think about it."

Xxxx

Nadir did not bring up that sensitive issue again that night, nor the next morning. The ladies would be coming for tea and a singing lesson in the afternoon, by then they would probably know which day would work best for Meg and Erik would have had almost an entire day to think about the Lord's invitation. Nadir was therefore planning to discuss their visit to the Lord's house then.

He had barely reached the office, though, when to his surprise Lord Castleborough showed up. Nadir was confused. What was the Lord doing here? Erik had delivered all the sketches the Lord had ordered and they had received payment for them. Did the Lord maybe want to have some adjustments made, or maybe even place another order?

"Good morning, Mylord," Nadir greeted politely, offering his customer a seat. "How may I serve you today?"

Lord Castleborough sat down. He looked at Nadir nervously, about to speak, then hesitated. "What I am about to do is completely inappropriate," he finally mumbled. "I am about to break several rules of acceptable behavior by telling you what I am about to tell you."

Nadir shook his head. "I have no idea what this is about, Mylord," he said, "but rest assured that I am convinced that nothing you do will ever be improper. If you ignore certain established rules, you probably have a very good reason for doing so and have been unable to find an other way how to deal with a certain situation."

The Lord nodded. "It occurred to me last night, that neither you nor Mr. Lavoisier are British," he began again. "So you probably do not know..."

Nadir still did not quite understand. "We do not know what...?" he asked, feeling utterly clueless.

"I should have mentioned it last night," Lord Castleborough continued. "But I did not quite understand the meaning of it all. Mr. Lavoisier, he was so nervous, almost scared to meet me, and you and the two ladies, forgive me for mentioning this, it is really very poor behavior to intrude upon your privacy like that, but you were nervous as well, and kind of … protective of him."

Nadir was not quite sure how to react. He did not quite understand yet, why the Lord was mentioning all that. One thing was obvious, though, Lord Castleborough was a good observer. "You are very perceptive," Nadir admitted.

"I am relieved that you take my words like that," the Lord continued. "For an Englishman, at least one of higher education such as you, would not have reacted so kindly. You must know, and please also inform Mr. Lavoisier accordingly, that we value privacy very much. If somebody wants to keep certain things from us we will not ask about them. If we notice that somebody is uncomfortable with.." he coughed nervously, before mumbling, almost apologetically, "their appearance..."

Nadir sat up straight. He was beginning to see where this was leading. "You got the feeling that Erik... Monsieur Lavoisier.. falls into the latter category," he stated flatly.

Lord Castleborough nodded. "Yes," he admitted. "Of course, it would be correct behavior to either not have noticed or to pretend not having noticed anything unusual, but..." He paused, embarrassed. "Mr. Lavoisier seemed almost scared when I extended my invitation. I therefore deduced that he does not know about this rule of conduct and feared I might make a comment about his looks, should he choose to accept my invitation, or even worse, despise him because of his appearance."

Nadir looked up in surprise. "What makes you think that there is something wrong with my friend's looks?" he asked. Had the Lord glimpsed Erik's face after all? Nadir felt uncomfortable. If so, Erik would surely kill him.

The Lord was not feeling too comfortable either. "The hat," he finally admitted. "The hat did not match his attire. He was wearing elegant evening clothes, of good quality, the whole ensemble showed extremely good taste. Mr. Lavoisier certainly knows how to dress, which is no surprise, really, considering his artistic profession, where a sense for aesthetics is indispensable. But the hat he was wearing was awful, and it sat on his head in such a strange angle, that it was obvious that he was trying to hide something, most likely a scar of some sort."

Lord Castleborough looked away. "Forgive me for bringing up all that," he uttered. "It is none of my business at all, and I have no right whatsoever talking about this. Mr. Lavoisier did not want me to notice, so I should not have done so. But when I thought about this, I realized that Mr. Lavoisier might not want to accept my invitation, because of whatever the problem with his face is, since he does not know that it is extremely poor taste to notice such things or talk about them. Maybe in his home country of France things are different, maybe there he would be exposed to ridicule or even cruelties, because of this deficiency, but here..."

Nadir stared at the Lord. "Are you trying to tell me, that no matter how horrible my friend's face may or may not look, nobody would comment on it, and people would even pretend not to notice it if he appeared in a public place?"

"Not in the higher classes," the Lord explained. "The commoners do not have that strict codex of correct conduct. I cannot guarantee what would happen, if he went, say, to the weekly farmers' market or another place where people of the lower classes meet. But if he were to visit the house of a nobleman or upper class citizen, he should not face any problems."

The Lord cleared his throat. "I have served in the colonies," he stated. "I have seen many men that were crippled in battle or seriously disfigured. I have also seen many pretty faces ravaged by exotic diseases like the Aleppo boil. One of my best friends, Sir Toddlingham, has an ugly scar over most of his face. It was caused by a saber. He almost lost his left eye when he was injured, and his earlobe is badly lacerated. Nobody thinks less of him for that. The younger son of the Duke of Darington has pockmarks all over his face. Despite these deficiencies both are well respected members of the London society and nobody treats them as less than equal because of their appearance. Nobody mentions their problem in their presence and nobody talks about it behind their backs." He squirmed, realizing that he was doing just that right now.

Nadir nodded. "I understand," he said, "and I am grateful you told me. I am aware that it took a great deal of effort to provide me with this information, and I will most definitely relay it to Monsieur Lavoisier." He smiled at the Lord. "I cannot promise, though, that he will believe me. He has suffered a lot because of his face," Nadir admitted.

Lord Castleborrough shook his head. "You do not have to tell me," he assured Nadir. "I really have no business knowing about it. I do not even ask you what exactly Mr. Lavoisier's problem is, or how bad it really is. I do not want to pry. Just rest assured that nobody would bother him with questions or comment on his appearance, should he decide to accept my invitation. Mr. Lavoisier is a very talented architect, a genius, that is what counts, not what he looks like."

Nadir sighed. He had a feeling that Erik would not be easily convinced to believe any of this. "Erik... Monsieur Lavoisier, is very reluctant to show people his face," he finally uttered, "especially people he barely knows..."

The Lord faced Nadir. "I understand," he said. "Therefore, it might be best, if for a first visit he kept his hat on, and I will make sure that he is seated in a way that it would be almost impossible for me to get a glimpse of whatever he is hiding. As I said before, no questions asked. If he wants his privacy, I will grant him that. That's the least I can do for such a talented man."

Nadir was beginning to think that maybe this could work after all. If Erik could keep his hat on and did not have to deal with any questions or comments about his face, he might be convinced to accompany them, especially if Christine asked him to do so.

"What about your servants?" Nadir finally asked. "Do they adhere to your behavioral codex as well, or would they bother him with stares, laugh at him behind his back or inconvenience him in any other way?"

"Of course not!" Lord Castleborough was shocked at that insinuation. "My personnel is well trained. They know better than to upset one of my honored guests, or, worse, make fun of them or gossip about them. Of course, I cannot force Mr. Lavoisier to accept my invitation, but he would make me very proud if he did so, and I can assure him that his privacy will be respected in my house."

Nadir smiled. "I will make sure Erik understands that," he promised, "but the final decision is up to him. I will not pretend that convincing him will be easy. Last night he was dead set against accepting your invitation." Nadir chuckled at the memory of Erik's angry outburst after the meeting with the Lord the previous night. "That he will be allowed to keep his hat on, may make him rethink his position, but then, it may not. It took some persuading to make him come to the opera with us, and he loves music."

Lord Castleborough nodded. "It is a pity that somebody as talented as Mr. Lavoisier has apparently had to go through such terrible experiences that he is now reluctant to meet new people," he said. "I can only repeat that I would be honored if he could be convinced to accompany you and the ladies, for I hope at least the four of you will accept my invitation?"

Nadir quickly confirmed that he himself as well as Mme. Giry and her daughters would be delighted to have tea with Lord Castleborough next week. "Meg... Mademoiselle Marguerite, that is, is just now checking with the opera, on which of the proposed days she would be able to leave rehearsals a bit early, so that she can accompany us," he explained. "I suspect, that if Monsieur Lavoisier has to decline, we have to offer you at least the young diva as a somewhat comparable substitute guest of honor," he chuckled.

Lord Castleborough laughed. "I am not sure Miss Giry would like the way how you just declared her to be a substitute for Mr. Lavoisier," he commented. "You will let me know then, which day is most convenient for you, and if Mr. Lavoisier wants more time to decide, he does not have to do so right now. You can send me word of whether or not he will be attending at any time, up to one hour before the agreed time. He will be welcome, no matter what."

Nadir assured the Lord that his consideration was very much appreciated and that he would do his best to convince Erik that there would be no risk involved if he decided to accompany him and the three ladies.

Xxxx

Nadir's conversation with the Lord was the main topic that afternoon, when Mme. Giry and Christine came by for tea and the usual singing lesson.

"He did sound sincere," Nadir repeated for the hundredth time. "I do believe him. Erik, he said there would be no other guests, just him and us. He is willing to accept whatever eccentricity you are going to display, you may even keep your hat on and neither the Lord nor his servants will bat an eye because of it. It would be a perfect opportunity for you to do some socializing on a small scale. Just one new person, who, by the way, is totally impressed with your work and predisposed to like you, no matter what. Who feels like he has committed some serious social faux-pas for even having noticed that there is something wrong with your face."

"He does not know what he is getting himself into," Erik groaned. "If he knew what I really am, what kind of monster he has invited to his house..."

Christine took put a hand on his shoulder. "You are not a monster," she whispered, "do not always put yourself down like that. You have worked for him and he appreciates you because of your talent. He does not care what you look like any more than he cares about the looks of these other two people he mentioned, that Sir, who is a good friend of his, and the Duke's son."

Erik stared at her. "I do not think that either of them has killed," he mumbled.

"We do not know that for sure," Christine reminded him. "Lord Castleborough himself may have killed people in battle. After all, he mentioned having spent some time in the colonies. I bet that means he was in the military and has been involved in a few skirmishes. And what about his friend with the saber-wound? He must have gotten injured either in battle, or a duel. I know that the memories of Buquet and the gypsy trouble you, but you know how we feel about these matters, and there is no reason to assume that Lord Castleborough would feel differently if he knew about them."

Christine smiled lovingly at Erik, while she silently prayed that he would accept this invitation and start socializing, before he remembered the rest of his past – the chandelier-accident, the fire, his attempt to kill Raoul, and especially his time in Persia. "Once he remembers all that," she thought to herself, "we'll never get him to open up and go out more. He needs to start doing so now, before he remembers everything or he'll never be able to lead a normal life."


	26. Socializing

Another chapter is ready, another important step for Erik on his way to winning Christine and to live a normal life with her. Thank you all fir reading and reviewing, loyal followers that have been with me for a while as well as new readers. I cannot tell you often enough how much your support means to me.

I still don't own anything or anybody, except for certain members of the British aristocracy. :-p

Chapter 25 – Socializing

The next day Nadir confirmed the tea appointment with Lord Castleborough for the following Thursday. He informed the Lord that Erik had not yet agreed to accompany them, but that they had not yet given up hope that they would be able to convince him to do so.

Nobody said anything to Erik, though. They all felt that he would be more willing to come with them if they left him alone and gave him the feeling that it was truly his choice whether to go with them or stay behind. They all knew that making it too obvious that they wanted him to come along would put Erik under pressure and thus make him uncomfortable and less likely to join them for their meeting with the Lord.

On Wednesday afternoon, when Mme. Giry and Christine came for the usual singing lesson, Nadir finally brought up their appointment with the Lord again, pretending that he needed to make arrangements with the ladies, as to when he would meet them, where they would pick up Meg at what time and similar details.

Erik felt pretty much left out, since this topic did not concern him in the least. He felt a bit hurt, that they all seemed to be in such great mood, looking forward to meeting the Lord the next day, while he would be sitting at home, alone, unable to see his beloved Christine. He was getting so used to seeing her daily for her lesson, and now was he not only not going to see her the next day, but she did not pay him much attention today either, concentrating on Nadir's suggestions how to get to the Lord's residence the next afternoon.

Erik was getting angry. How could his three friends chat so happily about their plans for tomorrow, when they knew he would be staying home alone, sulking?

He pushed his teacup aside and stood. "I don't think I am needed here," he mumbled and left the table.

"Angel!" Christine's sweet voice made Erik turn around, and Christine, who had followed him, threw herself at him, burying her face in his chest. "Don't you ever say that again," Christine begged. "Don't even think it. You know that we do not want to leave you out. We would love to have you come with us, but we respect your decision not to go see the Lord with us. Of course it was rude and inconsiderate of us to discuss our plans for tomorrow in front of you, when we all knew very well that this topic does not interest or concern you in the least. But maman and I have no other possibility to arrange things with Monsieur Khan, we had to do so while we are here. We did not mean to anger you."

Erik sighed. How could he resist her, when she talked to him like that, clung to him like that? He wrapped his arms around Christine and laid his disfigured cheek on top of her head. "Oh Christine," he whispered. "Would you really want me there? I either can take off my hat and risk being stared at and despised, or wear my hat indoors and be considered an uneducated beast with no manners. You would be embarrassed by my presence."

Christine looked up at Erik and smiled at him. "The only emotion I would be feeling with you at my side, would be one of pride," she said, "because the well-known and well-respected architect Erik Lavoisier, who also happens to be the enigmatic Angel of Music, would take me to tea with one of his customers." She blushed deeply. "It would be like going on a date with you."

Erik stared at her, unbelievingly. "You would not mind going out with a freak who does not follow the common courtesy of taking off his hat when he enters somebody else's house?" he asked incredulously.

Christine shook her head. "I might," she admitted, "if the man in question were anybody but you, and if the Lord had not informed us through Monsieur Khan that it would be perfectly acceptable for you to keep your hat on."

Erik sighed. "You almost make me want to accompany you," he uttered. "But I really do not think I can bear being with a stranger for so long. I am sure I will get very uncomfortable very soon."

Christine smiled at Erik lovingly. "Why don't you give it a try?" she suggested. "If it really becomes unbearable for you, you could give me a sign and then I can pretend that I have a headache and ask you to take me home."

"You would do that for me?" Erik stared at her in wonder. How was it possible that this beautiful angel cared so much for him, the ugly monster, that she was willing to leave an entertaining tea party just to keep him comfortable?

Christine nodded. "If you come with us despite your misgivings about doing so, that's the least I can do for you in return," she said firmly.

Erik put his arm around her shoulder. "Then let's go back and tell Nadir and Antoinette that I will be joining you tomorrow," he said.

Xxxxx

The next afternoon, Nadir hired a carriage. He and Erik first picked up Mme. Giry and Christine, then stopped by at the Opera to meet Meg, and once they were all together, they proceeded to Lord Castleborough's townhouse.

The Lord had informed his servants that he was having guests for tea, and that he had offered to one of them to keep his hat on all the time. "This gentleman is to be treated with the same respect as any of my other guests," he had said sharply. "If he is wearing a hat it is not because he has no manners. He has valid reasons for his behavior that I have accepted."

When the party of five arrived, Lord Castleborough met them in the entrance hall and greeted them warmly. "I am so glad, you could make it, Mr. Lavoisier," he beamed at Erik, pretending that Erik's busy schedule had been the reason for the latter's last-minute-decision to join his friends.

Erik fidgeted nervously. "I must apologize for my poor manners," he finally stammered, "for keeping my hat on..." He was expecting a change in the Lord's attitude towards him, the moment he made it clear that he would not take off his ridiculous hat, but the Lord just gave him another warm smile.

"Oh, don't think about it, Mr. Lavoisier," Lord Castleborough reassured Erik. "I told you it would be perfectly fine for you to wear your hat if you so chose."

The Lord then lead the way into a beautiful room with huge French windows that looked out onto a small garden. A round table near one of the windows was set for six. The Lord had given some thought to the seating arrangements to make Erik as comfortable as possible. Lord Castleborough himself was sitting between Meg and Mme. Giry. Erik sat next to Meg, with Christine on his right side, while Nadir took the seat between Christine and Mme. Giry. Thus, Erik's normal, left profile was facing the Lord, while his deformity was turned towards Christine. In addition, the Lord had also made sure that Erik would get the seat that was least exposed to the daylight coming in through the window.

When Erik noticed these arrangements, he relaxed slightly. That way, his only problem was the fact that his enormous hat somewhat obscured his view of Christine.

Lord Castleborough did his best to make his guests comfortable. He started a light conversation, talking about the wonderful ballet production, congratulating Meg on her success, then he mentioned the wonderful designs Erik had drawn for him and the two men talked about architecture for a while. To Erik's surprise the Lord was quite knowledgeable in that area.

"You must believe me that I am truly impressed with your work, my dear Lavoisier," he said to Erik. "I understand enough of the matter to be able to judge it, and I know that your talent is exceptional."

Erik blushed in embarrassment, and the Lord quickly changed the topic, asking how the Girys had met Erik and Nadir. "I assume that since you are living in the same neighborhood and Mr. Lavoisier is a fellow Frenchman you got to know each other?" he asked politely.

Mme. Giry shook her head. "Actually, Erik and I have known each other as children," she explained. "We grew up together. We had gotten out of touch when he left France a few years ago. It was mere coincidence, that we found him to be our neighbor, when I moved here with my two girls as well a few weeks ago."

The conversation returned to the Opera, the quality of the orchestra, the corps de ballet, and Meg's performance as Myrta. Now it was Meg's turn to blush. "It is really not such a big deal," she said, embarrassed. "If you know how to do it. Of course one needs to practice a lot, ballet is not for the lazy, but once you have got the knack of it, it really comes quite naturally."

Mme. Giry smiled at her proudly. "To someone who has not been dancing all their life as you have, it will seem amazing, though," she told Meg.

Lord Castleborough was surprised. "All your life? Really?" he asked. "At what age does one have to start to dance in order to become a ballerina?"

Mme. Giry took it upon herself to answer. "The sooner, the better," she explained. "It does not hurt to learn some basics as soon as you are old enough to walk, to start with stretchings etc at a very young age, so that when you are old enough to pursue it seriously, your muscles are ready for dancing."

The Lord was suitably impressed. He had not been aware that a successful ballet career had to be started that early. "But what made you think that Miss Marguerite would succeed in such a demanding profession?" He asked.

Mme. Giry smiled. "My girls grew up in a theater," she told the Lord. "My husband died early and I had to work for a living. Since I had danced myself as a girl, I found a job as ballet mistress with one of the larger theaters in Paris, so it was only natural that my daughters started to dance as well."

The Lord addressed Christine. "So you are a dancer too, Miss Christine?" he asked politely.

Christine laughed. "Oh no, Mylord," she replied, amused. "I did try, though, but I am nowhere near as talented as my sister, so I gave up on dancing a while ago."

Meg gave her a quick look. "You may not be as good a dancer as I am, though you are still fairly decent," she said, "but you far surpass me when it comes to singing." Christine blushed, unsure what to say, while Meg chattered on. "Christine is about to audition at the Opera for a solo part," she informed the Lord. "She is just perfecting her voice now, but she is almost ready, is she not, Erik?"

Erik nodded, and Meg went on. "My sister has the most exceptional voice. I am convinced she will blow them all away. She certainly is much better than Miss Crawson, who is currently singing most of the leading roles."

Lord Castleborough smiled at Christine. "Miss Christine, I had no idea, that you are training to be a singer. What a blessing, Madame," he turned to Mme. Giry again, "to have two such talented daughters."

Mme. Giry nodded. "I am truly blessed with these two young ladies," she said. "Both my daughters make me very proud." She knew she was telling the truth. Christine might not be her natural daughter, but she could not have loved her more if she were truly hers, and she was equally proud of her and Meg.

"If I had known that you are a singer, I might have asked you to do me the favor of gracing this afternoon with a song or two," Lord Castleborough said to Christine. "Of course we would have had to select one or two pieces in advance, so that I could have practiced the accompaniment on the piano, I am not good enough to sight-read music."

Christine and Erik looked at each other, checking how the other one felt about it. "Do you want to sing?" Erik's eyes asked. Christine nodded, her eyes telling him that she would be willing to sing if he as her teacher had no objections.

"If you want to hear Mademoiselle Christine sing, she is willing to do so," Erik finally told the Lord. "I can accompany her."

Lord Castleborough gasped. "You can play the piano as well?" he shook is head in amazement. "I guess I should not be surprised. And I would of course be pleased to listen to Miss Christine."

The Lord showed them into a large ballroom where a beautiful old piano was standing in one corner. Erik sat down in front of it and stretched his fingers. "Your audition song," he said curtly. Christine nodded. They had practiced Violetta's long scene at the end of the first act of "La Traviata" for quite a while, since Erik thought that the combination of lyrical passages and stupendous coloratura was best suited to show off Christine's unique talent. She knew the words and the music by heart, as did Erik.

"È strano," Christine began the scene and continued it all the way through. At the point when Alfredo's tenor voice is supposed to be heard from outside, Erik joined in. Christine's eyes widened. They had never done it that way before. So far, Erik had always played Alfredo's melody on the piano, as would be the case at her audition. But then she smiled. They were singing together, as they had always been meant to do. Her voice sounded even more brilliant and powerful as she let lose the sparkling coloratura fireworks of the second part of the scene, ending on a perfect high E flat.

Lord Castleborough was speechless. "Brilliant," he mumbled. "That was simply brilliant. Both of you. Miss Christine, I would be very surprised if the Opera did not offer you a leading part in the next production once you have had your audition. I have never heard such a pure, sweet soprano voice, making coloratura sound as if it were effortless. And you, Lavoisier, if you were not such an accomplished architect, you could most certainly make a very decent living as a musician as well."

Erik fidgeted nervously. He had been so immersed in the music that he had forgotten where he was, and had sung Alfredo's part almost automatically, without giving it much thought. Was his situation not similar to that of Alfredo in this particular scene? Was he not as anxiously waiting for Christine's final answer to his proposal as Alfredo was to hear what Violetta would tell him once he returned the next day with the wilted flower?

The sound of somebody discreetly clearing his throat interrupted the scene. Lord Castleborough's butler stood at the door. "Mylord, I am sorry to interrupt," he addressed his master, "but Sir Toddlingham would like to see you for a moment."

Lord Castleborough quickly glanced at Erik. He had promised that there would be no other guests, but then, maybe seeing how well-respected his scar-faced friend was, was just what Erik needed.

"I kindly ask Sir Toddlingham to join us in the main ballroom," Lord Castleborough instructed his employee, then turned to Erik. "I am sure you will enjoy meeting my dear friend Reginald," he said encouragingly.

Erik wished he could disappear. Sink into the ground, dissolve into thin air, something, anything, in order to avoid having to face yet another stranger. Even though the meeting with the Lord had gone better than he suspected and he even had somewhat enjoyed their conversation, Erik felt in no way ready to meet this Sir Toddlingham.

Christine reached for his hand, entwining her fingers with his, showing him her support. Nadir smiled at her encouragingly. He had recognized the name. Sir Toddlingham – that was the Lord's friend with the disfiguring sabre-scar across his face. Seeing how this man moved around without problems would certainly do Erik some good.

"What is this Soames just told me, you are in the ballroom?" A tall man of about Lord Castleborough's age burst into the room. He stopped in mid-stride when he noticed that the Lord was not alone. "Pardon, ladies, gentlemen," he bowed to the Giry-family and Nadir and Erik, adding apologetically, "I was not aware that you had visitors, Percy."

Lord Castleborough smiled. "Reg, good to see you. May I present to you Madame Antoinette Giry, her daughters Marguerite, who is the new ballerina at the Opera, and Christine, who will most certainly soon become the new primadonna, Mister Nadir Khan and Mister Erik Lavoisier, of Lavoisier and Khan. Ladies, gentlemen, my good friend Sir Reginald Toddlingham."

Sir Toddlingham turned towards the group, and they finally got a good view of his scarred face. Before the incident he might have passed for handsome, but the thick, red scar that ran all the way across his face made his features look bloated and swollen. His left eye lay deep in its socket, the scar passing by so close that it almost seemed swollen shut, and his left earlobe was nothing but a slip of angry red flesh.

Erik gasped. This man looked almost as ugly as he did, yet he saw no reason to cover up his disfigurement. The Lord smiled at him warmly, and the butler who had shown him in, looked at him with nothing but respect.

Sir Toddlingham was far too agitated to notice Erik's state of mind. "Percy!" he screamed at the Lord, delighted. "How on earth did you meet all these people? Miss Giry only just debuted and you already are acquainted with her and her family, and as to Mister Lavoisier,..."

He turned to Erik, smiling broadly, which made his scarred face look even more grotesque. "It is an honor meeting you, Sir, I am a great admirer of your work. Most of my friends already have done business with you, and I would have sought you out within the next days anyway, since my daughter Gwendolyn is getting married, and her groom's house needs some renovation before the young couple can move in..."

None of the Sir's words registered with Erik. He suddenly felt dizzy. The man talking to him had a monster's face, yet he was apparently well-liked. This Sir was not abused, shunned, mistreated despite his face. Was this due to his social rank as a member of the lower nobility? But the Lord had not winced when Sir Toddlingham had entered. That ugly, scarred face did not seem to bother him. Was it possible that he had finally found people that would be able to accept him as well?

"I am sorry," Erik whispered. "I have been a fool. An impolite fool. You, Sir Toddlingham, have graciously shown me your face, and I..." Erik's frame shook with sobbing. "My behavior is inexcusable," tears were streaming down Erik's face and Christine laid a hand on his arm again.

"Calm down, Erik," she tried to sooth him, "it is fine."

Erik shook his head. "Nothing is fine," he sobbed, "but I will make it right." Then he summoned all his courage and tore off his hat.


	27. Jealousy

Woohoo, last chapter was a big success again! Thank you all for reading, reviewing, alerting, favoriting, in short, for making this story a success. Things are getting quite dramatic, so be prepared. The next few chapters should be rather emotional.

CaptainHooksGirl, I must say your review made me laugh. The idea of REAL British nobility hiding in my closet... that's just too scary! Who would want to face Charles and Camilla every time they open their closet? The horror, the horror!

Anyway, just so that you all know, I do not own anything or anybody, not even the British Royals or whoever else you might be thinking is hiding in my closet. ;-)

Chapter 26 – Jealousy

For a moment everybody seemed to be paralyzed, then Castelborough and Toddlingham looked at each other, smiled and went towards Erik.

"Mr. Lavoisier, I meant what I said," the Lord assured Erik, "I am honored to know you. And I am incredibly proud that you deemed me worthy to see your face. I offer you my friendship and hope that you will accept it."

Sir Toddlingham patted Erik on the shoulder and commented jovially, "of all people here in this room, I am probably the one that can understand best how much courage it took for you to get rid of this concealing garment. When this...," he pointed to the scar that marred his face, "happened, it took me months to get used to my new... well, to what passes for my face now, and even longer to summon the courage to go out and confront the world again. And it was my own fault that my face was destroyed." He looked away, as if to shake off sad memories.

"It was not easy at first," the Sir admitted, "I felt ugly, hideous, unable to fit in with the crowd of normal people, but thanks to helpful and understanding people I found my way back into a more or less normal life."

Erik was speechless. He had not quite expected the two noblemen to react in such a friendly way. At best he had hoped for them to not be disgusted by his face. He looked around. Christine was beaming with joy, Antoinette was fighting back tears and Nadir sighed with relief. Meg was the only one that stood a bit to the side and did not dare facing him directly. She had only seen his face once before, when Christine had unmasked Erik on stage during the performance of "Don Juan Triumphant", and she was not sure she was quite ready to look at it again.

Erik's eyes fell on Sir Toddlingham's scarred face. Something the Sir had said had made him think. "You, … you did this to yourself?" he whispered. "You were not born that way?" Erik tried to imagine what it must be like to have been born with a perfectly normal, even somewhat attractive face and then one day have your looks destroyed by a weapon. He could sympathize with the shock the Sir must have felt at his sudden disfigurement. Was it easier to have been hideous all your life and being used to getting shunned? Was it easier to accept one's fate as a monster-faced freak if one had never known what it was like to be normal? Or... had the Sir at least known a mother's love and friendship with other children in growing up, before his face had gotten injured? Erik realized that the Sir's life could not have been easy either, once he had gotten his scar.

"No," Sir Toddlingham replied, "I have not always been that ugly." He looked into the far distance again. "I brought this upon myself. I have nobody to blame but myself for what happened that day so many years ago. You, on the other hand," he took a closer look at Erik's face, "there is a scar on your right side, so you have been injured as well, but that's not what caused your disfigurement. You were born that way, were you not?" When Erik silently nodded, the Sir continued, "I cannot begin to imagine what it must have been like for a child to have a face such as we do. Children can be so cruel, I bet the other boys used you as their punching ball."

Erik looked away. "Adults can be cruel as well," he murmured, thinking of his mother, who had never given him the love he would have needed as a child.

Sir Toddlingham nodded. He understood perfectly and he was grateful for his wonderful childhood, for the years full of love and friendship, before …

"People can be very cruel," he agreed, sounding bitter, when he added, "and while an ugly face may be a perfect reason for some to heap abuse and insults on the likes of us, a handsome face is no guarantee that you will be safe from their malicious dealings."

Lord Castleborough apparently knew what his friend was talking about. He put a comforting hand on the Sir's shoulder and squeezed it tightly. "Don't think about it anymore, Reg," he said. "It is in the past. And if … well, if things had been different, you might now be stuck with that viper..."

Sir Toddlingham shook his head. "On the contrary, Percy," he said with sudden conviction. "I think today is the perfect day to remember these old stories, if for no other reason than to help Mr. Lavoisier understand that while his fate may have been terrible and caused him a lot of pain and heartache, there is no guarantee things would have been all smiles and roses if he had been born with a normal face like I once had."

Sir Toddlingham smiled at Erik. "I am aware that you have been through a lot, and I can imagine that you may have wished quite often to look like other human beings, but...," he looked away again. "Looks are not everything. And even though the day I lost my face and the events leading up to it will forever be the darkest period of my life, in the end it resulted in the greatest joy of my existence."

Lord Castleborough cleared his throat. "Reg, if you are planning on telling the story how you got injured, I suggest we head back into my parlor and sit down comfortably," he said, leading the way. Everybody followed him.

Once they were all comfortably seated near one of the beautiful French windows of the parlor, Sir Toddlingham began his story.

"I was a young man of twenty-three," he said, "and I had everything: a loving family, a beautiful home, money, a good education, manners, looks – and a girl. My family lived in the countryside," the Sir explained, "in Sussex, I was the only son and heir of my parents, and one of the most eligible bachelors in the area. The only other family that could compete were the Moorleys, but their wealth had dwindled somewhat over the past few generations, and the fact that Sir Moorley had had to give an appropriate dowry to each of his four sisters had made things even worse. His oldest son, George, was a year older than me, and despite the differences in our economic situation we had been friends since we were old enough to talk."

Sir Toddlingham looked at Erik. "I know you do not see any relevance to my story yet," he said, "but you will soon understand, and I hope I will be able to make you realize that a face is not all that matters."

After sipping on the brandy that Lord Castleborough had poured for all the men, Sir Toddlingham continued. "As I mentioned before, I was twenty-three years old, when our old pastor retired and Pastor Landing became our new parish priest. He was married and had eight or nine children. His oldest daughter, Josephine, was the prettiest thing in this world," the Sir explained. "At least that's how I felt about her. Her skin was like porcelain and had the hue of a barely opened wild rose, her eyes were as blue as the cornflowers in our meadows and her hair had the color of ripe wheat. She was tall and slender like a young birch-tree and her voice sounded like the song of a larch. The moment I first saw Josephine I fell in love with her. I started to court her and to my joy after a while she seemed to return my feelings. My parents were not too happy with my choice, because of her family's rather poor financial situation, but even they admitted that a pastor's daughter was socially acceptable. After a few weeks we were engaged, and I felt in Heaven."

Sir Toddlingham took another sip of his brandy, to steel himself for what he had to say next. "Since we were both so young, our parents decided that we should wait about a year before we would get married," he continued. "That period of waiting was almost over and we were beginning to plan the wedding, when one day I had to go to a nearby town where a cattle market was being held. I was not planning to come home that night, since I would most likely have to organize transportation for whatever animals I might buy there. For some reason the market that day was disappointing. The only milk-cows of any value were heavily overpriced and the bulls were not breeding material. So I did not make any purchases and decided to head home after all, even though I would arrive at dark."

"I was already near our village, when I had to pass through a small glen near the Moorleys' house. That's when I saw them." Sir Toddlingham was very agitated now, he clearly was reliving the events of that evening, and whatever had happened then still shook him to his core.

"That is, I heard them first," the Sir whispered. "My Josephine and my best friend George. They were laughing and giggling and..." he paused to get his emotions under control. "They were kissing. Josephine's blouse was open, her breasts bare, and George fondled them lovingly. And then..."

Erik winced. He felt like he was standing on that rooftop again watching Christine and de Chagny kiss. While he was perfectly able to understand the Sir's feelings at the moment he had caught his bride and his friend together, he had no clue why this Josephine would have betrayed the Sir so cruelly. That Christine had preferred the handsome Vicomte was somewhat conceivable, but Sir Toddlingham had been attractive then. There had been no reason for the girl to betray him.

"She said to George that she had to remain a virgin till after the wedding, but then... they could do more. George begged her to break off the engagement and marry him, but she said they would starve, since he didn't have any more money than she did, and that therefore she had to marry me, but her heart would be his and he would have access to her body whenever he wanted."

Erik jumped to his feet, agitated. "That whore!" he shouted. "How could she do that to you?" Christine's eyes were wide with fear and followed his every move. She knew only too well what Erik was thinking right now, how well he could empathize with the Sir's feelings at that terrible moment and she was frightened at the thought that this story might make him remember a lot more about his past and her relationship with Raoul, when here and now was definitely not the right place nor time to deal with these particular memories of his.

"I broke into hysterical laughter," Sir Toddlingham whispered, "and they stopped whatever they had been doing. I said that I was glad I had found out in time, that I could somewhat understand Josephine for wanting to marry the richer suitor when she preferred the poor one, but that I could never forgive George for his betrayal."

Sir Toddlingham looked into the far distance. "Two days later, it was all over. There was a duel, I chose saber since I was a skilled fencer. I could not think clearly, my blood was boiling, I wanted nothing more than to kill George, my former friend, who had destroyed my dreams of love."

Erik got more and more agitated. This all sounded so familiar. His head was spinning. Long-forgotten memories surfaced from the bottom of his subconscious mind. Rage, jealousy, madness, the desire to throttle the luckier rival, a noose around the Vicomte's neck, Christine telling him that the true distortion was in his soul, calling him her fallen idol and false friend...

"Did you.." he asked anxiously. "Did you... kill him?" How strange it was to think that unrequited love and betrayal were not only the fate of ugly freaks like him, that a pretty face , a title and money had not saved the Sir from a similar experience. Was it possible that he had been wrong all along? That a pretty face would not have solved all his problems? While he was pondering these questions, he remembered more and more details about the night of the fire at the opera, but he tried to suppress these for the moment and deal with them later, for now he was too anxious to learn how the Sir had handled a similar situation.

"Yes," Sir Toddlingham's voice sounded tired and broken. "He did not stand a chance. I just attacked and ran him through in my blood-red haze of jealous fury. When I saw him fall, I laughed, then went to see if he was truly mortally wounded. He was dying, but there was still some life in him. When I leaned over him to make sure his wound would finish him off, he raised his right arm and slashed his saber across my face."

Lord Castleborough squeezed his friend's shoulder. "None of this would have happened if George Moorley had had the decency of staying away from your fiancée, Reg," he said. "Or if she had taken her engagement seriously. You only defended your honor by challenging your bride's lover. It was their fault every bit as much as yours."

Sir Toddlingham nodded. "Still, I should not have killed him," he said weakly. He noticed that everybody's eyes were hanging on his lips, waiting to hear the rest of the story.

"When I came to again weeks later, George had been buried, my face was destroyed and my soul had been scarred forever with the knowledge that I had killed my former friend."

Erik breathed heavily. He understood only too well, even though he had not killed his rival. Not him, anyway, but he had killed nevertheless. Images of his gypsy master, of Joseph Buquet – and Ubaldo Piangi assaulted him. He groaned, when realization hit him that there was a third man whose life he had taken. His mind might have been in a similar state when he killed Piangi as the Sir's when the latter had killed his former friend, but that did not justify what he had done.

Nadir and the three ladies watched Erik nervously. They were well aware of the similarities between Sir Toddlingham's story and Erik's own past and feared that the Sir's narration would trigger Erik's memories and that he might reveal more of his own experiences than was advisable in their current company.

"What happened to Miss Josephine?" Christine asked shyly. Even though she herself had not been half as guilty as the Sir's fiancée, she felt bad. Only now did she completely understand how much she had hurt Erik when she had left him for Raoul.

"She had to leave the village," Sir Toddlingham explained. "Everybody blamed her for what had happened, the young Moorley dead and me in critical condition for weeks, and even once I was out of danger it was clear that I would be marked for life. She had no chances of ever getting married after that incident. She had to work for a living, and not in a suitable job as a paid companion or nurse. She ended up in a factory." He shrugged. "My love for her had died the moment I surprised her with George."

He turned to Erik. "So you see, a pretty face cannot keep you safe from unpleasant, heart-breaking experiences any more than money or a title can. And a pretty face does not necessarily mean that you are a good person. When I still had my face, I gave in to my jealous rage and killed a man. Now, I have learned to control my temper, thanks to my dear Eliza, the woman that looked past my face and past the fact that I had ended a man's life and loved me regardless." He glanced meaningfully from Erik to Christine. The Sir had picked up on the feelings for each other that these two were wearing on their sleeves.

Erik's eyes met those of Toddlingham. "Thank you," he murmured. "Your story has given me much to think about, and it hit closer to home than you realize. I... I know how it feels to see the woman you love in another man's arms." Erik's voice betrayed the pain he had experienced that night on the rooftop of the Opéra Populaire, when he had observed Christine with de Chagny. "And as to jealous fury..." he paused, "that madness that makes you unable to think rationally.. I know that, too." Erik winced at the memory of Piangi, "Don Juan Triumphant", the chandelier and his threats to kill the Vicomte.

Sir Toddlingham nodded. "It took me months to get over all that. Once I realized that I had killed George and that Josephine's life was destroyed, too, my anger over their betrayal evaporated. All I could think of was that I had taken a fellow human being's life and that my face had been marked, to broadcast my crime to the world. It was not easy to find my way back, but believe me, there are worse things than a hideous face. George's death will haunt me till the end of my days."

Erik nodded. He understood what the Sir was trying to tell him, even though he was unable to confess that just like Toddlingham, he was carrying his guilt that was even worse than the ugliness of his face.

"When I was overwhelmed by my guilt, knowing that I would never be able to forgive myself, an angel entered my life," the Sir continued. "I was sent to my aunt's home in Scotland for a while to rest and to wait for this unfortunate affair to be somewhat forgotten. The doctor who checked on me every now and then had a young daughter. Eliza was moved by my sad love-story at first, then by the pain that my guilt caused me. She saw some good in me after all, realizing that only a decent person would take it so hard that he had killed a man. Her love helped me through that difficult time, she gave me the strength to start anew and to face society despite my face and despite my crime."

He looked at the three ladies, his gaze lingering on Christine. "I am sure, she would love to meet you all," he said.


	28. Confessions

Hi everybody! To judge from the feedback, you liked the previous chapter. Thank you all for reading, reviewing, alerting, favoriting, that goes both, for my loyal followers that have been with me for quite some time, as well as for the new readers I have spotted among you. Thank you all, I could not do it without you! And, You Are Love, I hope you will be satisfied with this new chapter, since I have taken your hint... well, you'll see. ;-)

I also want to caution you not to expect such frequent updates in the future. I am only able to do so now, because I caught a severe cold and am unable to go to work. Who would have thought that there can be a good side to being ill?

Anyway, I do not own either characters or events or anything else even remotely related to POTO. Or LND, for that matter (title, hint).

Chapter 27 – Confessions

Mme. Giry and Nadir realized that both, Erik and Christine, were extremely shaken by Sir Toddlingham's story, and needed time to think. They therefore thanked both, their host and his friend, for the invitation and the trust they had shown them by sharing the Sir's past, but mentioned that it was time for them to leave now.

Lord Castleborough understood. It was quite obvious that his friend's story had had an impact on both, Lavoisier and the ballerina's sister, and that both needed time to regain their composure and deal with whatever thoughts the Sir's tragic past had provoked in them. He insisted, though, that they should all meet again soon. Sir Toddlingham interrupted him, suggesting that the next time they should have tea at his place. "My Eliza is currently at our home in Sussex," he explained, "but she will come to London end of next week with our daughter, so that we can start purchasing Gwendolyn's bride's trousseau. I am sure Eliza would love to meet you all." And it was agreed that they would all meet for tea at the Sir's house two weeks later.

Nobody spoke much during the ride home, Erik and Christine were both immersed in thoughts caused by Sir Toddlingham's narration, and the other three did their best to give the couple time to digest the afternoon's events.

Once they reached the Giry's home, the ladies got out of the carriage, but not before Nadir could ask Mme. Giry and Christine to come by for their usual afternoon tea and music lesson the next day. Christine and Erik looked at each other, both embarrassed and unsure how the other would react to the Sir's story, which bore so many similarities to their own past history together.

Xxxx

As soon as they had reached their house, Christine broke down sobbing. "Erik must hate me so," she cried. "I am like this Josephine that betrayed that nice Sir Toddlingham. Erik thought I was his, and then he saw me with Raoul on the roof, kissing."

Mme. Giry took the miserable young woman into her arms. "The situation is not at all comparable," she tried to comfort Christine. "First, whatever Erik may have thought at that time, you were not his. The two of you were not engaged then, and unless there is something I do not know about, he had not even confessed his feelings for you and proposed to you, right?"

Christine's body shook with sobs. "Not with words," she whispered, "but when he showed me his home, there was this mannequin doll, which looked like me, and she was wearing a wedding dress. I should have known how he felt about me."

Mme. Giry nodded in understanding. "But still, you hadn't promised him anything," she soothed Christine. "The two of you were not engaged. You were free to enter a relationship with another man. And even if you had been honor-bound to Erik, his actions that day... he could not blame you, because he himself scared you away by killing Buquet."

Christine's tears were running more freely now. "But he only defended his own life!" she cried. "Erik did not deserve me leaving him for Raoul because of this. I hurt him so much!"

Mme. Giry rocked her adoptive daughter. "It's not as if he had not hurt you himself," she said. "And Erik is not stupid. He knows that he is just as much to blame as you are for the fact that things did not work out between the two of you the first time. But you still love each other, that's the important thing. The two of you will be able to work it all out, I am confident about this."

Christine nodded, not quite convinced. "But he does not know about me and Raoul yet," she wailed. "My marriage. He does not know that I am not... that I have already... if it hurt him so much to just see me and Raoul kiss, knowing that we have... that I am damaged goods..." she could not finish the sentence, overwhelmed by guilt and the thought how much pain this knowledge would cause Erik.

"You were married to the Vicomte," Mme. Giry reminded her. "Nothing the two of you did was therefore inappropriate. Erik will come to understand that. You have not acted shamefully. I am not saying that this will be easy for Erik, since most men want their women to be virgins on their first night together, but considering the situation, how much this Vicomte has hurt and humiliated you, and that you are finally free of him, Erik will eventually be able to get over this. He loves you. And if you were widowed, you would not be a virgin either. It may hurt Erik at first, but once he has given it some thought, he will forgive you this ill-fated marriage."

Christine tried to calm down. "I wish I could finally discuss this all with Erik," she sighed. "But there is so much else he has not remembered yet, like the masquerade, my trip to the cemetery, the performance of "Don Juan Triumphant",... he needs to remember all this, before I can start with my confession about my marriage."

Mme. Giry smiled. "I think you might be wrong there, my dear. I think Erik remembered a lot of all that today, when Sir Toddlingham told us his story. There are several parallels, after all, and I would be surprised if those had not triggered some of Erik's memories. You must ask him tomorrow. The time when you can discuss your marriage with him may be closer than you think."

It still took a while for Christine to stop crying, and she lay awake half the night, worrying about how Erik might have taken the Sir's revelations.

Xxxx

A few houses further a very similar conversation took place. "How can Christine ever forgive me?" Erik ranted. "I remember it all now. Not just the rooftop, where I saw her kissing de Chagny. No, everything. The masquerade where I ripped her engagement ring from her neck, the cemetery, where, instead of discussing things rationally with her, I pretended to be some supernatural being and then had a swordfight with her beau, that stupid plan of theirs to ambush me during a performance of my opera, Piangi, the chandelier, the way I dragged her to my lair, the Vicomte following us, I remember it all, Nadir, and I behaved like a raving madman!"

Nadir chuckled. "Not unlike Sir Toddlingham during his duel," he commented. "I am sure Christine has realized by now, what caused your madness then, and since your emotional condition back then was partly her fault, she will be able to forgive you, just like this remarkable Eliza Toddlingham forgave the Sir and loves him despite his checkered past. Also, you must remember that Christine has known about those events all along. She has never said that anything would keep _her_ from marrying you. To me that seems as if she had forgiven you already. It's you that she wants to be absolutely sure that you really want that relationship. I would not worry too much about this. Of course you need to discuss things with her tomorrow, but I am sure that the Mademoiselle has accepted this part of your past." He smiled at Erik. "Don't be so hopeless, she does love you, and I am fairly certain Lord Castleborough and Sir Toddlingham have figured that out as well. It is obvious. Apparently the last person to believe it will be you."

Xxxx

The next day, when Mme. Giry and Christine arrived at their usual hour, Nadir took Antoinette aside, whispering conspiratorially, "I think our young folk here has some things to discuss and we are in the way. I therefore suggest a nice walk in the garden." Mme. Giry agreed and left with Nadir, after giving both, Christine and Erik, an encouraging smile.

"May God help them that they can finally sort things out and find a way to each other," she sighed, once they were out of earshot. "It is undeniable that they love each other, and they have already lost so much time."

Christine and Erik waited till Nadir and Antoinette had left, then they blurted out their concerns almost simultaneously. "Forgive me, Erik," Christine begged, while Erik wailed that he remembered everything now, and realized how unworthy he was of her.

Once they noticed that the other one was talking, too, and therefore unable to listen, they stared at each other in confusion. "You first," Erik finally said.

Christine nodded. She took a deep breath, then explained. "I realized last night that I am not much better than that Josephine, who betrayed Sir Toddlingham so cruelly," she confessed. "It is true that we were not engaged, that I had not promised you anything and was therefore free to enter a relationship with whoever I pleased, but even though you had not told me yet, I knew how you felt about me." She paused, then added, "the mannequin with the wedding dress... After our history together I would have owed it to you to let you know my decision, before..."

Erik stared at her uncomprehendingly. "What are you talking about? That you were kissing de Chagny after I killed Buquet?" He laughed bitterly. "I can hardly blame you for that. Only a fool would have expected his girl to still trust and love him after he had killed another man almost before her eyes." He looked away from her. "And you were not even my girl then," he added softly.

Christine looked down. "I was," she said calmly. "And I had given you enough reason to hope... to believe... that I ..." she blushed deeply.

Erik frowned. "What are you trying to tell me?" he asked.

Christine could not face him. "If you had come to me the next day and explained about Buquet," she whispered shyly, "if you had told me you had seen me with Raoul, if you had finally told me how you felt about me, asked me if you had come too late... oh Erik, I would have been only too willing to forgive my angel, in fact, I was waiting for you to do that, so many days I was waiting..."

Erik reached for her chin, raising her face, so that he could see her eyes. "You would have broken up with the Vicomte for me?" he asked incredulously.

Christine nodded. "I liked him well enough, after all, we had known each other as children, but I was not sure about him. That's why I did not want our engagement to be made public, but when I had waited for so long and you never came..." Her voice trailed. "I thought I had lost you. That you had run away for fear of the authorities, and I was alone, so I told myself that Raoul was a great choice for a husband and accepted his proposal."

Erik squirmed. "If only I had known," he murmured miserably. "And when I came back, at the masquerade, I treated you as if you were my unfaithful bride, when it was all my fault..."

Christine sighed. "I _had_ accepted Raoul's proposal," she reminded Erik. "I was not exactly blameless."

Erik groaned. "I should have known. The way you were looking at me, coming closer... those were not the eyes of a woman afraid of me or hating me, nor did you look guilty, just … awed... to see me again."

Christine smiled. "I did not dare breath, for fear I would wake up and realize I had only dreamed that you had come back..."

"And I screwed it up again!" Erik's voice sounded beyond frustrated. "I should have talked to you, instead I took you to the cemetery and tried to impress you with magic tricks and win you back that way. Threaten or charm you into obedience with my shenanigans..."

Christine's smile deepened. "You were so unsure of yourself. You did not think that I would... that a few words would have been enough to sweep me off my feet..." She looked at Erik apologetically. "I know we should have talked then," she admitted, "but I at least tried. I mentioned that my mind warned me against you, but that my soul was only too willing to give in to your charms."

Erik winced. "I guess I did not quite understand then what had turned you away from me, namely my killing of Buquet, and even if.. I doubt we could have resolved things then, for your... that boy... he interrupted us."

Christine sighed. "I was so afraid when he showed up. I knew the two of you were jealous and hated each other, and then you started to fight." She looked at Erik, the anguish she had experienced that long ago night clearly written all across her face. "You could have killed each other! You almost did..." She shuddered at the memory. Erik had sliced Raoul's upper arm and Raoul had almost killed Erik, when the latter had slipped on the icy ground and fallen.

"You saved my life that day," Erik whispered. "You did not stop me when I injured your boy, but when my life was at stake... "

Christine nodded. "I thought you were a ruthless killer that had murdered Buquet to make an example, and yet... I did not want you dead," she admitted.

Her eyes took on a tortured look. "I did not want anything to do with Raoul's plan to ambush you, either," she sighed. "He made me agree, he reminded me of your crimes and told me that nobody at the Opéra Populaire would be able to live in peace as long as you were around, he said it was my duty..."

Erik laughed sarcastically. "It seems he is every bit as good at manipulating you as I have been at one time," he commented.

Christine fidgeted. "I was so nervous before the performance of "Don Juan Triumphant", I had this foreboding, it was as if I knew that something terrible was about to happen," she confessed. "I almost did not go out on that stage, and then..." She paused. It was still hard for her to think of that particular night.

"Then you were there and I could not think straight anymore, we sang together, and you held me and caressed me, and I forgot everything else around me, and then..."

Erik winced. He remembered only too clearly now, what had happened then. "Why... why did you do that?" he asked. "My mask... why did you expose me to the audience like that?"

Christine shook her head. She had asked herself the same question repeatedly over the past few years. "I do not know," she sobbed. "I was confused, I did not know anymore where I belonged, I.. I guess I just remembered what Raoul had told me to do... or the sight of one of the gendarmes caused an instinctive reaction..." She threw herself at Erik, burying her face in his shirt. "Forgive me, please," she sobbed. "I know it was wrong to rip off your mask, and you probably felt similar to the way Sir Toddlingham felt when he found his fiancée with his friend, I cannot even begin to imagine what it must have been like for you to suddenly be so exposed – by me."

Erik wrapped his arms around her. "Oh Christine," he sobbed, "That night I did things so much worse than what you did. Piangi, the chandelier, dragging you down to my lair, trying to force you to become my bride, threatening to kill de Chagny..."

Christine did not stop sobbing. "You were as blind with jealousy as Sir Toddlingham was when he killed his former friend in that duel," she whimpered. "You were not thinking straight, and .." she paused, before adding, "even though you were out of your wits with jealousy, and your hatred towards Raoul was more than justified, after all, he had attempted to ambush and kill you first, you still had it in you to release him and not to force me..."

Erik looked away, deeply ashamed. "I forced you to choose, though," he said, "knowing that there really was no alternative, that you could not have lived with the knowledge that de Chagney had died when you could have saved him. I knew you well enough to be certain of your decision. I thought I had been so clever, and then you... you disarmed me. You not only agreed to stay with me, but took steps to prove to me that you meant it. You..." Erik sighed. "I did not deserve it, but you actually put on the engagement ring to show that you considered yourself my bride and then you..."

Erik blushed deeply at the memory of this miracle. Christine looked up at him, blushing just as deeply as Erik, her lips only inches away from his. "You kissed me," Erik whispered reverently, before lowering his lips to Christine's waiting ones.

For an instant, it was as if they had gone back to that magic moment of their first kiss. Just like then, their lips met, hesitatingly at first, then boldly claiming each other, parting, offering access to their tongues and the warm cavities of their mouths.

When they finally broke apart for breath, Christine had tears in her eyes. "That's when I knew," she said. "Once I had kissed you I knew for sure and without any doubt that it was you I loved. And I did not care about Buquet, or the chandelier or anything else anymore, but then..."

Erik nodded. "I had a similar revelation when you kissed me," he said. "I realized that until now I had had no clue what it really meant to love somebody. I understood that I had done it all wrong, that one cannot force love, that I could not hold you to your promise under those circumstances, that I should respect the choice that you had made long ago by accepting the Vicomte's proposal. So I sent you away with him."

Christine nodded. "And I left. I felt rejected and I was afraid of the mob that was approaching, and with my dress.. I knew I could not run. I had to go with Raoul, if I wanted to be safe, but when I saw you there, in front of the music box, .." Her heart broke all over again at the memory of Erik sitting there forlornly, unable to move and to try and escape the mob. "I almost stayed, despite everything..."

Erik shuddered. "If you had stayed, you might have been injured like me, for that's when it happened, the injury that took away my memory for so long. It was probably better that you let the Vicomte lead you out safely."

Christine nodded half-heartedly, when a thought suddenly struck Erik. "What happened then between you and de Chagny?" he asked. "How did he take it that you broke off the engagement?"

Christine stiffened, her face as pale as the wall. She felt as if she was about to faint, but she knew she had to tell Erik. The moment had finally come for her confession. Shaking like a leaf in the wind, she stammered, "I did not. I married him."


	29. Accusation

So you liked the previous chapter? At least that's the impression I got from the many reviews... Thank you all, by the way, for reading, reviewing, alerting, favoriting. This is my first story that has reached an average of 9 reviews per chapter! Yay! Let's try to keep it that way, shall we? Your feedback makes me want to write more, to update sooner, etc. and I think you would like me to do that, right?

Anyway, I still don't own anything or anybody, and I know you are all dying to find out how Erik will react to Christine's confession about her marriage to Raoul.

Chapter 28 – Accusation

"You what?" Erik stared at Christine as if she had suddenly grown a second head. She could not possibly have told him what he had thought he had heard her say. He must have imagined it. Maybe this was just a bad dream, a nightmare, from which he would be waking soon. Or maybe he was going mad. For to think that Christine, his Christine, who had just told him she loved him, had always loved him, who had allowed him to kiss her and had kissed him back, to think that she was a married woman...

"I married Raoul shortly after the fire at the Opéra Populaire," Christine repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. Oh, she had known this would go badly, she had known Erik would be deeply hurt, but she had not been prepared for this look of jealous fury, of – madness – in his eyes.

"Married!" Erik's laughter had an insane undertone. "You are married! Oh what a fool I was to fall for your innocent ways, Madame la Vicomtesse! Are you tired of your husband's embraces, do you seek adventure now? Do you fancy to find out what it is like to be held by a monster, a murderer? How perverted have you become to want to get me into your bed, you shameless adulteress?"

Christine flinched at his words, as if he had hit her. "I am no adulteress," she whimpered, "you have it all wrong!"

"So what else do you call it, when a married woman comes on to a man other than her husband?" Erik roared. "Are there any euphemisms for that hideous fact, that members of the French nobility now use to make the situation appear less offensive? What is it you would call me other than your adulterous lover if I had given in to your shameless advances? Your official escort? Your music teacher? What do ladies call their lovers now?"

"I am not..." Christine tried once again to interrupt Erik and to clear up his misunderstanding, but he did not seem to hear her.

"Or was this just an elaborate joke at my expenses?" Erik laughed. "Is the Vicomte waiting in the wings, for your cue, to poke fun at my love-sickness once again?" Erik seemed almost insane now. "How stupid I was!" he screamed, "to believe that you actually... How could I have forgotten such a minor detail as the monstrosity which passes for my face! Of course you would not have gone through with it!"

"Stop that!" Christine had had enough. Her little hand impacted with Erik's left cheek. That slap together with her scream finally silenced him. "You can be mad at me as much as you want," Christine continued, somewhat calmer, "once you know the whole truth, I know you have every right to be angry, but I do not deserve your accusations. I am not an adulteress. It is true that I was married to Raoul, but I am not anymore. I am a free woman."

Erik was still fuming. "He is dead? You are a widow in need of a new husband?" he seethed.

Christine shook her head. It was harder than she had thought to confess to Erik how deeply Raoul had humiliated her. "I am not widowed," she explained, "I am divorced."

Erik frowned. "You left the Vicomte?" he asked incredulously. "Why? He is handsome, young, rich, a nobleman. Don't expect me to believe that you gave up all that for the love of me!"

Christine sighed. Erik was making this really difficult. Why could he not simply let her tell her story and form his opinion of her afterwards, based on the facts she had provided?

"No, he divorced me," Christine stated matter-of-factly. "And if you let me tell you everything from the beginning, without constantly interrupting me with your," she winced, "your accusations and speculations, then maybe you would be able to judge my guilt or lack thereof fairly."

Erik nodded absentmindedly. He fought against images of Christine, naked, in the arms of an equally naked Vicomte, who was touching her – everywhere -, encouraging her to equally touch every bit of his anatomy, until he finally marked her perfect body his by penetrating... Erik groaned. This thought caused him almost physical pain. Christine seemed still so naive, so innocent, so maidenly. How was it possible that she was a woman in every sense of the word, that she already had experienced physical love, the joys of the flesh, that he would be forever denied?

"That night, I left you with Raoul, and he brought me to his home," Christine began uneasily. "It was all very proper, we had separate bedrooms and he did not try anything untoward." She was not certain why it seemed so important to mention this detail. Surely it would not make a difference for Erik to know that she had lost her innocence only on her wedding night?

"I was so worried," Christine continued. "I had no idea what had happened to all my friends. It was not just you, it was maman and Meg and the other girls from the ballet, Firmin, André, everybody. So Raoul promised to go back to the Opéra and investigate." She shook her head. "I thought this was a very thoughtful, considerate gesture of his, but of course he had to go anyway, since he was one of the Opéra's patrons." The last words sounded almost bitter. She knew her former husband better now than she had known him three and a half years ago.

"As it turned out, he ran into Meg and she had just the information he needed. The information he wanted to hear so desperately," Christine added sadly. "Meg had been with the mob, apparently looking for me and hoping that she would be able to keep me safe should the angry crowd run into you and me. They must have reached your home shortly after Raoul and I left. I remember hearing the smashing noises on our way out, which must have been you breaking all the mirrors, for Meg told Raoul that they found three of them all broken, and behind one of them a secret passage. They entered that passage and saw you not too far ahead, they followed you, hoping to be able to catch you, when suddenly the ceiling caved in and buried you. They were convinced that you could not have made it out safely, that the murderous Phantom, as they called you, was dead."

Erik sighed. "I would have died, if Nadir had not been looking for me," he admitted. "He knew where this corridor was leading and once he had heard the story came for me from the other side."

Christine looked down. "We thought you were dead," she said. "It was not just Raoul. Meg had seen the cave in, she did not think there was a chance you could have survived. I had to believe it, too. You must understand, Erik, I had nobody left, I was so alone. I was also out of a job, because the Opéra would not be able to reopen anytime soon, if ever, and maman and Meg didn't have a job either, so I could not expect them to take me in. There really was not much else I could have done other than marrying Raoul. He had asked me to marry him for such a long time, he had been unhappy with my decision to keep the engagement secret, he had played along with my every whim, I therefore felt I owed him. And he still wanted me, despite..." she looked at Erik. "Even though he had watched us kiss. I was grateful to have him, so I agreed to marry him as soon as possible, which I did."

Erik's head spun. This must have happened when he had been recovering from his injuries at Nadir's home. To think that while he had been in pain, slowly learning that he had lost his memory, that he was a disfigured freak with no friends, Christine had been lying in the Vicomte's arms, giving him her everything... "I bet this was really hard for you," he spat at Christine. "A loving husband, worshiping your body with lascivious caresses, introducing you to the pleasures of passion, a huge mansion with dozens of servants at your command, pretty dresses, jewelry, delicacies every day, …."

Christine shook her head. "It was nowhere near as fun as you seem to think," she said. "It was boring. I had nothing to do. The household did not need any guidance from my side, nor would I have known how to handle any emergencies, I did not know anybody in these social circles, I was not used to needlework, and one cannot spend every day reading."

Erik looked up sharply. "I guess that means that you had no interest in music anymore," he accused Christine, "for as far as I know, music is a perfectly acceptable pastime for a Vicomtesse."

Christine had tears in her eyes. "I thought so, too," she admitted. "But apparently it is only acceptable for someone born into nobility. It was not fine for me." She sighed. "Raoul said if I continued singing I would remind people of my past, of the scandal I had caused during the performance of your opera, of the fact that I was a common theater girl and that he had married below himself."

Erik was getting angry. "How could he deny you music?" he ranted, "did he not know that music is an integral part of who you are? And how did he dare mention that you were somehow not his equal, when you with your art are so far above him? But even if it had been true, he had married you and therefore should never have brought this up again. He knew before marrying you that you were a commoner. If this bothered him, he should have stayed away from you."

"My past did somewhat affect Raoul's social standing," Christine lamely defended her former husband. "He had a certain right to try and make people forget who I had been before becoming the Vicomtesse de Chagny."

Erik growled. "He treated you abysmally," he stated, before asking, "did Antoinette not try to help you? She does know, after all, how important music is to you."

Christine shook her head. "I... maman..." she stammered. "We barely saw each other. Raoul did not want me to socialize with the theater pack, as he called it."

Erik was seething now. "He treated Antoinette like dirt as well?" he screamed, "and she accepted all that crap from him the same way you did? How could she desert you so badly?"

"She did not want to interfere," Christine's voice was clear and determined when defending her adoptive mother. "She thought that it was not her place to get between Raoul and me. And then..." Christine looked down, embarrassed. "I did not tell her everything. I did not want her to feel sorry for me..."

Erik turned his back to her. "Nothing of what you have told me so far would explain, though, why the Vicomte would have wanted to divorce you," he said. "Unless, of course, a more suitable woman suddenly caught his eye, somebody with the right background, who had not been somewhat compromised by a disfigured murderer, somebody more worthy of his name..."

"It was not that," Christine blushed deeply. It embarrassed her to reveal such private information to Erik. "I... I could not give him his heir," she whispered. "I did not get pregnant."

Erik gulped. "He did not... I mean... you and him... he did not exert his rights too often?" he asked hopefully.

Christine looked down. "On the contrary," she whispered. "He was so desperate to have a son and heir, that we..." she did not dare face Erik. "Every night," she finally whispered. "Repeatedly. I was beginning to feel like... like a broken vending machine." She sobbed. "Like when someone is putting in the right coins, but the merchandise is not released? I failed him so terribly."

"Every night!" Erik roared. The thought of Christine being used like a commodity by that – fop, angered and hurt him at the same time. How long had Christine and de Chagny been married anyway? How many nights had her body been used by the Vicomte, or rather abused by his attempts of turning her into a breeding machine?

"After two years," Christine revealed even her worst humiliation, "he had me examined by three doctors." She looked away from Erik. "I had to allow them... to look... and to touch... between my legs..."

"That pig!" Erik knew he would have strangled the Vicomte right away if the latter had been anywhere near. "He made you submit to this indignity? He did not have the decency of asking a midwife to check on you? Certainly this particular situation called for another woman."

Christine was sobbing at the memory. "Three old lecherous men, looking at my... and I was not allowed to keep a skirt on, I was completely... exposed... down there..." She shuddered. "It was in the middle of the day, too," she sobbed. "They saw... everything... and they... their fingers..." She shuddered at the memory of these men's fingers entering her, probing.

Erik was torn between compassion for what she had gone through, anger at the Vicomte for having subjected her to such a humiliating procedure and a smug feeling of her having gotten what she deserved for marrying his rival.

"So, what did they find?" he finally asked. "Are you barren?"

Christine shivered. She was not sure what she had expected, but after she had revealed her most humiliating memory to Erik, and in doing so embarrassed herself greatly in front of him, she had hoped for him to take her into his arms and tell her that this was all in the past and she should forget about it.

"I don't know," she said hesitantly. "These three... doctors... did not think so. They just laughed and said I was too tense, I needed to relax more."

Erik briefly thought that no decent woman would have been relaxed if stared at, poked and prodded in her most private parts by three strangers simultaneously.

"But I did not get pregnant within the next year either," Christine confessed, "even though... " She paused again, embarrassed. "Well, Raoul kept trying every night, and every month, when I started bleeding, he got angry..."

"And then he divorced you," Erik stated simply.

Christine nodded. "He said there was no point in further delaying the inevitable," she confirmed. "And that therefore I should sign the papers he had already prepared. He promised to provide for me, but I did not want his money. I said I would find a job, and he said I was not to use the de Chagny-name anymore."

She looked at Erik. "I signed and left his house within the hour. I went to Mme. Giry, who took me in even though we had become a bit estranged over time, she immediately filed for my adoption to give me a totally new name to start anew, and agreed to leave Paris for my sake. So we came here last spring, and..."

Erik laughed mirthlessly. "How convenient that you discovered then that I am alive." His voice was dripping with contempt. "I was the answer to all your problems, was I not?" His right hand formed a fist and he hit the wall, hard. "What a fool I was!" he raged. "I really thought you cared for me. But you needed my help to get your voice back into shape, did you not? And let's not forget the fact that you have gotten used to...how shall I put it … certain activities that happen between husband and wife in their bedchambers. The Vicomte had pleasured you every night, repeatedly?" Erik closed his eyes in disgust. "And now you have had to go without for how long? A few months? And considering that you are not a virgin anymore and are not wearing a widow's clothes... it would be hard to find another husband, would it not, with your reputation tarnished by a divorce. Oh, poor Christine," he mocked her. "How desperate must you be for a man's … embrace that even I start to look appealing?" He laughed scornfully. "It must have seemed like the ideal arrangement to you, I would finally get my chance to experience lust and you would have a man only too willing to worship your body. But I have news for you, Madame," he sneered at her. "I have no intentions of letting myself being used by you like that. So, the Vicomte disappointed you. I thought he would do that, but of course you knew better, you chose him over me. And now you have to live with the consequences. I am not the second-best that you can settle for now. I refuse to pick up the Vicomte's leftovers!"

Christine was sobbing heavily now. Erik was taking her marriage to Raoul so much harder than she had expected. "You are mistaken," she cried. "I do care for you, deeply, that was not a lie. If I wanted to marry you, it was because you mean the world to me and I want us to be together, not because I miss … do you really think it was fun having Raoul just … I mean... creating a baby was more important to him than... me... his supposed love for me..."

Erik did not seem to pay attention to her words. He was too agitated to care. Somehow he felt as if he had found the explanation for the impossible-seeming attention that Christine had paid him since their reunion. He ran towards the window and looked out for Nadir and Antoinette. Once he spotted them he called for them. "Antoinette, come quickly!" he roared, and when she hurried to the music room, where a sobbing Christine was huddled on the floor, Erik pointed to the young woman. "There, Antoinette," he said. "Take that viper, that seductress that tried to enchant me with her fake innocence. Take her away and make sure I will never have to see her again. I am not her toy to play with as she pleases."

With that he stormed out of the room, leaving Nadir and Mme. Giry alone with the crying young woman on the floor.


	30. Despair

Woohoo! You all seem to have liked the previous chapter. Over 20 reviews this week, most of them for the last chapter, that's a new record! Thank you all so much for reading, reviewing, alerting, favoriting! It really means the world to me.

Do you remember that a few chapters ago I mentioned there would be more heartache coming before things would get better? That's what I was referring to, well, the previous chapter and this one and at least the next one.

I had hoped you would not have to wait another week, but things were crazy at the office and I was still a bit under the weather because of my cold, so it took a bit longer than planned to finish this chapter, but I hope you will enjoy it.

Anyway, I still do not own anything or anybody, but that does not come as a surprise, or does it? On to the next chapter...

Oh, and I just decided to approve a guest review by "milk" - for your entertainment. Your comments on that are just as welcome as on the story. Have fun! ;-)

Chapter 29 – Despair

"That idiot," Nadir screamed. "I wonder what he has done now to upset her so badly." He turned towards Mme. Giry. "Do you mind if I leave Mademoiselle Christine to you? I need to check on Erik. He seems terribly agitated as well."

Mme. Giry nodded. "I will see to Christine. You try to calm down Erik." With that she knelt down next to her sobbing adopted daughter, while Nadir ran after his stubborn friend.

Mme. Giry wrapped her arms firmly around the miserable young woman. "Sh, Christine, it's all right," she cooed. "I am here now..."

Christine cried for a while in Mme. Giry's arms, unable to speak, while heavy sobs shook her slender body. Finally she calmed down enough to utter a few words. "I lost him," she wailed. "It is too late. Erik does not want me anymore!"

Mme. Giry rubbed Christine's back. "What exactly did he say to you to give you that impression?" she asked calmly.

Christine looked away, embarrassed. "It is because of my marriage to Raoul," she sobbed miserably. "He thinks that after Raoul disappointed me he is now the second-best and probably my only chance of ever finding a husband again. He thinks I have had to somewhat lower my standards, being a divorced woman and all that, and that that's the only reason why I am even considering him. And he does not want a used woman. He said he would not pick up the Vicomte's leftovers!"

"How dare he!" Mme. Giry was shocked. She could understand that Christine's previous marriage might have been a blow to Erik's already low self-esteem, reminding him of the fact that the woman he loved had only found her way to him via a detour, but she did not think that his disappointment justified insulting Christine so badly. "His behavior is inexcusable!" she seethed. "Even though it might sadden him that you have already belonged to another man, he should treat you with a minimum of civility."

"Don't be mad at Erik," Christine begged, tears still running down her cheeks. "He suffers enough already because of me. All these past weeks since we found him again, he has been hoping, thinking that everything would finally turn out well, that we could... and now he just realized that it was all a dream, that it has all been over long ago, that I am lost to him forever."

"What utter nonsense!" Mme. Giry interrupted Christine. "It all depends on him. Things will only be over between the two of you if he chooses to end them, for no other reason. Don't let his stupid words convince you that there is no way for the two of you anymore. Don't let him make you give up and stop fighting for both your happiness. Unless, of course, that is, unless you cannot forgive him for what he said to you?"

Christine's tears began to flow more freely again. "How can I not forgive him?" she sobbed, "when I know that he was so deeply hurt by what I had to tell him, only because he loves me so much! If he did not care, he... he would not have bothered insulting me. But what can I do to convince him that I really do want him, and am not just settling for him because I can't have anybody else, that I wouldn't _want_ anybody else? After all, considering how I treated him three years ago, it is all my own doing that he does not trust me, does not believe in my love anymore."

Mme. Giry pulled her closer. "We'll think of something. Since you still want Erik despite his inexcusable behavior, we'll have to find a way to make you both happy, for I am fairly certain that you are right and that he would not have reacted so violently if he did not love you anymore. We cannot resolve this today, though. Neither you nor Erik are in any condition to handle this rationally right now. You are both agitated. Come, ma chérie, I will take you home, there you will take a nice, hot bath to calm your nerves and then you will go to bed early and sleep it all off. Tomorrow is another day and you will be much calmer. We will then think about how we can convince that stubborn man of your love."

Christine nodded unconvinced and let Mme. Giry help her to her feet and guide her towards the front door.

"But I tell you one thing," Mme. Giry said, "once we have convinced Erik of your love and he does propose to you again, I won't give my motherly consent until he has suitably grovelled at your feet and asked you to forgive him. I won't let him get away with insulting my daughter like that, just because he is hurt and suffering as well."

Xxxx

While Mme. Giry was trying to calm down Christine, Nadir followed Erik, but when he reached the latter's room, he found it locked. "Erik, open your door, I have to talk to you," Nadir bellowed.

"Go away!" Erik's voice sounded mad with rage. "Leave me alone, all of you!"

Nadir did not relent. "Erik, this does not sound like you at all. What has happened that has upset you so much?" he asked through the door.

Erik's insane laughter resounded from inside his room and Nadir began to worry for his friend's mental health. "Oh nothing, nothing at all," Erik seethed. "I just woke up, is all. I see the world now the way it is, not through the rose-colored glasses. I am finally accepting the brutal reality of my cursed existence, that's what's happening to me."

Nadir stared at the still-closed door. "I have no clue what you are talking about," he said, "and I do have a strong feeling that you are misinterpreting something. If this has something to do with Mademoiselle Christine..."

"Stop calling her that!" Erik roared. "She does not deserve that title. She is a Madame, a... used woman. She was married to that boy of hers, and he cast her out, when he did not want her anymore. And now that she does not have too many options left, I am considered to be acceptable."

Nadir took a deep breath. So that was the problem. Christine had apparently confessed to Erik that she had been married to the Vicomte for a while and Erik took this revelation the wrong way.

"Madame Christine, if you prefer to call her that, is an honorable woman," Nadir began, but Erik's laughter interrupted him.

"Honorable!" Erik spat out the word. "Tainted by a divorce, a woman with no chance of remarrying, her reputation ruined, and now that she cannot pick and choose a husband that's to her liking, I am suddenly good enough? How would you feel, Nadir, if you found out that the woman that you... love, that means more to you than anything in this world, that you have put on a pedestal and that you worship, that this woman has been playing you like a fiddle, has made you believe she cares for you, has even kissed you, that she is... she has... that it was all a lie! That she is just in dire need of a husband and nobody else will have her!"

Nadir shook his head. How could Erik talk such nonsense? And even worse, how could he believe that?

"Madame Christine does not need a husband," Nadir reminded Erik. "She is fully capable of supporting herself with her singing. She does not have to remarry unless she wants to."

Erik sneered. "Yeah, she needed me for that, too, to help her with her voice, that's why she has endured my love-sick-puppy behavior."

Nadir tried again and again to reason with Erik, but the latter was not even listening. Christine's confession had upset Erik more than he himself realized. He had believed in her love, although his returned memories had tried to tell him otherwise. He had trusted her words, when she told him she would be his if he still wanted her, and now it all seemed like a well-rehearsed charade. "She was counting on my love for her," he told himself. "She thought that nothing could turn me against her, and by playing the innocent girl who has finally discovered who her true love is, she thought she could trick me into marriage. Apparently even a disfigured murderer is better than no husband at all!"

After a while, Erik was exhausted from his raging and broke down, sobbing. "Oh Christine," he cried. "Why? Why did you have to hurt me so much once again? Why could you not stay away and leave me alone? Why did you have to break my heart all over again?" And he cried for hours, about his miserable life, his ugly face which prevented him from being loved, about Christine's betrayal three years ago and the fact that he had fallen for her once again, believed in her openly displayed innocence. "I should have known," he sobbed, "after all, she is an actress. Why did I not see through her machinations much sooner? I was such a fool!"

Xxxxx

The next day, Nadir went to see Mme. Giry to discuss the situation at hand. "Christine hasn't stopped crying yet," Mme. Giry sighed. "She is very upset. She thinks that she has lost Erik, that it is somehow too late for them, that they can never be together."

Nadir gave her a quizzical look. "Has Erik insulted her so badly that she cannot forgive him?"

Mme. Giry shook her head. "On the contrary," she sighed. "Christine is convinced that she is at fault. That she has hurt Erik again, betrayed him in some way, because she was married to that Vicomte, and that after the way she has treated Erik previously, it is no surprise that he cannot believe in her love anymore."

Nadir sighed. "What a mess," he commented. "Erik is indeed crying as well, and it is true that he is doubting her love, though I do not quite understand his reasoning. He seems to think that Mademoiselle Christine wants a new husband so desperately that even he now starts to look good. That she does not really want him specifically, but is willing to overlook certain shortcomings of his, like his face, because she feels somehow less of a woman without a husband or some such nonsense. I have tried to point out to him that she does not necessarily need a man to support her, since she will be able to make a decent living once she will return to the stage, and that therefore she only will marry again if she wants to, but he is determined to ignore that fact, and I have no clue why he believes that Mademoiselle Christine would want a husband at any price."

"Christine, on the other hand, keeps telling me that she screwed it all up years ago," Mme. Giry commented dryly. "That she should never have turned to Raoul when she was shocked about Erik's actions, that she should have realized then that she loved Erik so much more than Raoul, that she should never have left Erik. She blames herself for the fact that they are currently both unhappy, and she has no hope that this situation can ever be resolved," Mme. Giry added. "She is devastated at the thought of how much Erik must be hurt now, and she keeps singing this song that her father once taught her, the one about looking with the heart instead of the eyes..."

"May I see her?" Nadir was not quite sure what he hoped to achieve by speaking to Christine. He had not had much luck with Erik, would the young woman be more receptive to his pleadings?

Mme. Giry shrugged. "I don't know if she is willing to see anybody, but I'll try. Wait here," with these words she left the parlor. When she returned a few minutes later, Christine was with her.

"Oh Monsieur Khan," Christine sobbed, gripping Nadir's hand in greeting and looking at him with red, swollen eyes. "How is my poor Angel?"

"Angry," Nadir sighed, "and unhappy, which tells me that his heart is far more involved than he wants me to believe." He forced a smile on his face. "He does love you, which is why I am convinced that things can still be sorted out."

Christine shook her head, hopelessness in her eyes. "He can never forgive me," she sighed. "I have given him no reason to believe in my love, on the contrary. It all began long ago, the night of "Il Muto", when I turned away from Erik and ran to Raoul for protection. I did not know my own heart yet then. I did not understand how much Erik meant to me, how much I needed him. I looked with my eyes and ignored my heart. I didn't believe what I felt, didn't trust what my heart showed, didn't forget what I thought or ignore what I heard, I didn't listen to my own heart but paid attention to what others told me. I believed that Erik was a dangerous murderer, that he would haunt me or Raoul or both of us till we'd be dead, that there would never be peace, that everybody would always be in danger of ..." she was sobbing freely now, tears streaming down her cheeks. "And I betrayed him, put his life at risk, and when Raoul followed us to finish him off... I still did not … and even though Erik showed the goodness of his heart by sparing Raoul, his attacker, I still left him... and then... I married... gave myself to the man who had plotted Erik's downfall... How could I?"

"We thought Erik was dead," Mme. Giry reminded her. "There was no reason why you should not have married the Vicomte."

Christine threw herself into her adoptive mother's arms. "Oh maman," she sobbed. "I should have listened to my heart. My father had tried so hard to make me ignore outward appearance and to look straight to a person's heart and I ignored his teachings. Erik had given me everything, hope, guidance and companionship when my father died, my voice, music, the ability to sustain myself. Raoul on the other hand... where was he, when my dear papa died? He never once bothered to write in almost ten years. I should have known where I belonged. I should never have married the man that had plotted to kill my poor Angel!"

Christine looked away, her eyes glazed, remembering the past. "Love you misunderstand, is love that you'll regret," Christine whispered. "How right my papa was. I wish now I could go back to the time before my debut and set things right, because now I understand the meaning of that song. Now I know how I should have acted then. But I screwed it all up, and now not only I have to pay for my mistakes, but my poor Angel as well. If I am miserable now, I get what I deserve, but Erik..." Christine was sobbing so hard now that she could not finish her sentence.

Nadir smiled. "I do get the feeling that you still love our stubborn Erik," he stated.

Christine nodded eagerly. "Of course," she admitted. "How can I not? It is him that won't want me now and won't believe in my love anymore... Oh, how much pain I have caused him already!"

Nadir patted her on the back in an avuncular manner. "I wouldn't give up hope yet," he told her. "Despite everything, that man is still crazy about you. I admit he is not listening to reason right now, but in a few days, when he has calmed down a bit, he will be able to think things through more rationally, and I would be very much surprised if he didn't see the situation a bit differently then. He will be grovelling at your feet, begging you to forgive him for his harsh words then. For even though you blame yourself for your current problems, Erik is in no way innocent. He has done his fair share of doing things the wrong way where you are concerned, and right now I am convinced that he is far more at fault than you. He is overreacting, blowing your previous marriage way out of proportion. I haven't given up hope yet that there will be a wedding soon, and neither should you."

Christine sighed. "If only..." she sobbed, making it clear that she would be only too willing to forgive whatever Erik had said or done, if only he were able to put the hurt behind him and give their relationship another chance.

When Nadir left a littke while later, he promised Mme. Giry to keep the two of them posted on Erik's emotional state.

Xxxx

A few days passed, without any significant change of the situation between the unhappy couple. Christine and Erik both spent most of their time in their respective rooms and only emerged for meals. While Christine was mostly crying and blaming herself, though, Erik was sulking and raging at his fate that relegated him to the back row, making it impossible for him to be anything other than second-best.

Xxxx

Almost a week had gone by since Christine's confession, when one morning a disheveled, distressed Darius knocked at the front door of the Giry-home.

Mme. Giry, who went to answer the door, was shocked. She had never seen the man in such a condition. "My God, Darius," she screamed. "You look terrible! Is something wrong? What's the matter?"

Darius gasped for breath, he had been running all the way from the men's cottage. "You should come quickly," he rasped, "and Mademoiselle Christine as well. My master says, the two of you are our last hope. Master Erik..." Darius shuddered. "He... we don't know what to do, we are so worried, we fear... he might... he .. it's Persia," he finally stuttered. "He remembers... and he... we fear he might... he is so agitated..."


	31. Persia

Soo... I was late with my update for my other story, and therefore decided that you deserved an early update for this one. This chapter is still highly emotional and dramatic, but problems are about to get sorted out. There is light at the end of the tunnel for our favorite couple... which also means that we are approaching the end of this story, but not before we get some fluff... ;-) Thank you all for your continued support, be it by reading, reviewing, alerting or adding to favorites. It is such a great feeling to know that people read and enjoy what I am writing.

I still don't own anything or anybody, though, and I have a feeling that won't change ever, no matter how many stories I'll write about our duo.

Chapter 30 – Persia

Nadir watched helplessly from the threshold as Erik raged in their dining room, throwing around furniture, breaking smaller things, damaging larger ones, while screaming like a madman – or like a mortally wounded beast.

"Murderer!" Erik roared. "Killer! That's what I am. Builder of torture chambers! A monster who is watching people die a slow and painful death, not because they have wronged me, but because I will get paid for their agony!" He slammed a chair against the wall.

"Erik, please..." Nadir tried to calm his friend, but Erik did not pay him any attention. His insane laughter resounded through the room.

"I killed your son, too!" Erik shouted at Nadir. "I killed them all! Dozens of people... I am an executioner, a perverted beast that enjoys causing pain!" He punched the table with his fist, hard, his knuckles starting to bleed.

"You wanted to help Reza," Nadir made another attempt to soothe Erik, praying that Darius would be back soon with the ladies. "He needs to relax, and soon," Nadir thought. "If he stays that agitated much longer, he could suffer a stroke or heart attack. Even if he does not attempt to..." He shuddered, thanking Allah that nothing in the room could be used as a tool to end one's own life.

"Slow and painful..." Erik laughed hysterically. "I am good at that... " He looked around the room, a flicker of insanity in his eyes. "Like them... justice fulfilled..."

Nadir paled. "No, Erik!" he screamed. "That won't resolve anything! You need to live and redeem yourself, to make it up for the suffering you caused..." He was interrupted by another blood-curling scream and the sound of the table being upturned.

"Angel!" Christine's voice was barely above a whisper, yet it made Nadir turn around to face Darius and the two ladies. Christine's face was ashen with shock, when she realized Erik's current state of mind. She pressed her fists against her heart and looked as if she would faint at any moment.

Mme. Giry put a supportive arm around Christine's shoulder then she addressed Nadir. "What happened?" she asked. "How long has he been like that?"

Nadir half-turned towards her, making sure that he still could keep an eye on Erik, while explaining the situation to the ladies. "Reza's birthday is upcoming," he sighed, "and Darius asked me if I wanted to sort of commemorate that day by having one of Reza's favorite dishes for dinner. We were not aware that Erik could overhear our conversation, thinking that he was in his room as he has been almost constantly for the past few days, but for some reason he had come down earlier today, and he heard at least part of what we said and when he heard Reza's name he remembered my boy, where he had met him, and everything else that happened in Persia. He groaned as if in agony and that's when... he started raging... it's a if he had suddenly lost his mind. He calls himself a killer, rages against himself and tries to relieve his frustration about his past by causing as much destruction as possible."

"He needs me," Christine's voice was frail, yet determined, when she made a few steps towards the dining room.

Nadir gripped her upper arm and held her back. "Not now," he told her softly. "He needs to calm down a bit, before he will be able to listen to reason. In his current condition he may even be dangerous."

Christine shuddered, but obeyed. Her eyes followed Erik for the next half hour, watching as he wreaked havoc in the once cozy dining room, screamed till he was hoarse, and finally broke down exhausted.

When she saw Erik on the floor, leaning heavily against the wall, facing an empty corner of the room, staring at it with unseeing eyes, as if in shock of what he had learned about himself that day, there was no holding her back, though. Christine entered the destroyed dining room and slowly, so as not to agitate him again, approached her beloved's hunched form.

Once she had reached Erik, she sank down to her knees next to him and wrapped her arms around him. "My poor Angel," she whispered, "I wish I could have spared you this."

Erik continued to stare ahead, and rasped, "leave me alone. I am a murderer. There is blood on my hands." He laughed again, a terrible, hollow laughter, before continuing. "I have killed dozens, I could kill again at any moment. You are not safe with me. Leave me alone!" The last words were spoken forcefully, like an outcry of his tortured soul.

"I am safe with you," Christine put all the determination she could muster into her words, pulling Erik even closer. "You would never harm me."

"How can you be so sure?" Erik scoffed. "Maybe you have no idea who I am!" He pointed at his disfigurement. "Apparently not even _this_ has made you understand what kind of a monster I am. I am cursed with the devil's mark, I was meant to be a murderer, a criminal from the moment I was born." His body shook again with insane laughter. "Oh, my mother was a wise woman. She knew. The moment she first saw me, she knew that she had given birth to a heartless monster. If only she had had the courage to finish my wretched existence then and there. She certainly would have made the world a better place by ridding it of me."

Christine rested her head on Erik's shoulder and whispered. "I _do_ know who you are. You are kind and compassionate and you have a warm, loving heart. You helped me through the most difficult period of my life. You were there for me when my dear papa died, you helped me heal and you shared your music with me. No monster would be able to do that." She snuggled up to him even closer. "No monster would be able to appreciate music the way you do," she breathed into Erik's ear.

Erik stared ahead and said monotonously, "dozens of bodies prove you wrong. I killed them all, killed for money! Made them die a slow, painful death, tortured them for days, made them experience unimaginable agony, and took the shah's money as compensation for the time and effort it took me to come up with more and more horrible ways of killing his enemies."

Christine forced herself not to shudder at this rather detailed description of Erik's past crimes, then she said. "That was not you, my Angel, at least not the real you. That was a creature shaped by society's rejection, by years and years of abuse and hatred, a soul that had never experienced love. The person that did all those things is long gone."

Erik laughed bitterly. "You are trying to find excuses," he said. "I had experienced friendship. Antoinette had been kind to me..."

Christine turned Erik's head to make him face her. "She was kind to you, but she admits herself that she was too young to fully understand how terribly starved you were emotionally, and when she met her husband, Meg's father, ..." her voice trailed. "You must have felt so alone and you feared that everybody else would abuse you and hurt you even further, since that was all you could remember from your life before meeting her. Your mother, the gypsies, they all had treated you terribly and damaged you emotionally. The shah's court was your first real chance at being accepted. You could belong there without being abused. And all it took in order to be accepted was to treat others the same way the world had treated you."

Erik turned towards the wall again. "I enjoyed it," he said weakly. "Coming up with new ways of torture was a challenge..."

Christine had tears in her eyes. "My poor Angel," she sighed. "You were desperate to find a place in society, to be able to use your abilities, and the first person to offer you that chance had to be a perverted sadist like the shah, who used you as a tool to satisfy his own blood-lust. It is as I said, they are all every bit as guilty of your crimes as you are. Your mother, who made you feel inferior because of your face, the gypsies who taught you that it was all right to abuse and torture others in order to make a living, and the shah, who tempted you with the things you craved most, acceptance, recognition, challenging tasks, in order to make you commit his crimes in his place. The person who committed those crimes was a product of the way the world had treated him. You are not that person any longer."

Erik tried to free himself from Christine's arms. "And why exactly do you think I am different now?" he groaned. "I still kill without a thought... Buquet, Piangi... nobody forced me to do that, nobody made me kill them, yet..."

"What about Raoul, then?" Christine reminded him. "He hurt you more than anybody else by luring me away from you, yet you didn't... On the contrary, it was him who tried to get rid of you..."

"I attacked him at your father's grave," Erik reminded her.

"That was a fair combat," Christine corrected him. "You did not spy on him in the dark and kill him in a back alley. You gave him a chance to defend himself. He, on the other hand, plotted to get you killed, and he used the gendarmes as his henchmen. He did not want to get his fingers dirty. And yet, when he was at your mercy that night, you did not kill him, you let him go."

"For you," Erik whispered. "I did not kill him, could not go through with it, because it would have hurt you..."

Christine smiled. "See, Angel, that's what I mean. That's how I know that you won't kill ever again. It would hurt me, and you would never want to hurt me. We all know that. And because we understand why you did what you did, we all still love you despite your past. Me, maman, Monsieur Khan, Darius..."

Erik finally relaxed. He slumped onto the floor like a rag doll and started crying. Christine held him protectively and whispered soothing words to him for over an hour, when she finally realized that Erik was close to collapsing from emotional and physical exhaustion. She motioned for Nadir to come closer.

"I think Erik needs some sleep now," she whispered to the former daroga. "And his hands are awfully bruised and chafed, I think he might need some medical attention, too."

Nadir nodded. He pulled his only semi-conscious friend up and helped him to bed. Erik was so ehausted that he fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow. He did not even notice it anymore when Nadir removed a splinter from his left hand and disinfected a rather nasty bleeding cut on the knuckles of his right hand.

Erik slept for the rest of the day. Nadir, Darius, Christine and Mme. Giry took turns sitting with him, all of them still afraid of what he might do, if he awoke alone and remembered again the horrendous crimes he had committed.

It was close to eight o'clock in the evening when Erik finally opened his eyes again, seeing Nadir sitting at his bedside, smiling at him encouragingly.

"Nadir," Erik sighed, turning away from his friend. "How can you smile at me like that? I killed your son, for Heaven's sake!"

Nadir squeezed Erik's heaving shoulder. "That was the kindest thing you could have done for my little Reza," he said. "You saved him, spared him months and months of excruciating pain. You gave him peace. That's when I knew that I had misjudged you. That you were not the heartless, unfeeling, bloodthirsty, sadist monster that I had thought you to be, but a warm, compassionate person. That you were only a lost, misguided soul, pushed in the wrong direction by years of abuse and rejection."

Erik fought back tears. "How can you be so sure?" he asked. "How can you ever trust me again after all the things I did?"

"You are a different person now," Nadir told Erik's back. "You have experienced love and friendship now, and those experiences have brought the goodness of your heart to the fore. You abhor killing now. You won't do it again." Nadir smiled, "and you would not want to disappoint your friends and thus lose them, now that you finally do have friends."

Erik closed his eyes. In his mind's eye he saw Christine's pale, worried face and heard her tell him, "It would hurt me, and you would never want to hurt me." Was that wishful thinking? Had he dreamed that in his hour of need she had come to offer him her understanding, her acceptance, her – love – after all he had said to her only a few days ago? He did not dare hope that she of all people would forgive him.

He turned around slowly and faced Nadir. "Christine," he whispered. "I dreamed that she was here and told me something similar..." His eyes took on an enthusiastic expression. "It was such a wonderful dream," he sighed.

Nadir's smile broadened. "That was no dream," he said quietly. "Madame Christine came the moment I sent for her, and if you did not fall prey to the deepest depression this morning it is only thanks to her. She truly loves you, Erik, she brought you back from the brink of despair and self-loathing."

"Yet another sin I committed," Erik sighed. "I pushed her away, her and her love, out of jealous egotism, because I could not bear the thought that..." He looked away again, embarrassed.

"She will forgive you, Erik," Nadir comforted his friend. "If you apologize to her, that is, and if you forgive her that she was married before. Don't push her away, because she made a mistake once, she has paid dearly for that already. Doesn't she deserve to be loved even more, after having been treated so poorly by the Vicomte?"

"Do you think..." Erik's voice was unsure, hesitant. "I mean, is it conceivable that she... that I..." He summoned all his courage and finally blurted out. "Can I see her?"

Nadir beamed. Things finally seemed to go the right way for these two star-crossed lovers. "She is waiting for you to call her,"he told Erik, "and even though you've been on an emotional roller-coaster today already and need your rest, I will allow her to come in for a few minutes and talk to you, if you promise that you will eat a little something and go back to sleep again afterwards."

Erik nodded. He would have promised anything for a chance to see Christine and try to obtain her forgiveness. "Is she not angry, hurt, because of the things I said to her?" he asked nervously.

"She is worried about you," Nadir explained. "That's why I will allow her to see you for a few minutes. She needs to know that you will be all right." He helped Erik into a sitting position, then went to look for Christine.

He found her with Mme. Giry and Darius in the parlor. The moment he entered the room, Christine jumped to her feet. "Erik...?" she asked worriedly.

Nadir patted her on the shoulder. "He is awake," he told her, "and he wants to see you. I have the impression as if he had something important to tell you..."

Christine was out of the room, before Nadir had even finished his sentence. He smiled at Mme. Giry and said, "I think we'd better prepare ourselves for an imminent engagement."

Xxxx

Christine slowed down once she reached the corridor leading to Erik's room. She wanted to see her Angel, but... how would he react to her? Was he only going to thank her for having helped him through his emotional crisis earlier that day, keeping his distance from her, the divorced woman, or... She did not dare hope for more. Surely it was asking too much to expect him to take her back now that she was not pure anymore...

She hesitantly knocked on Erik's door and entered his room. "Christine!" her Angel called out, his voice heavy with love and longing, his arms extended towards her.

"Angel!" Christine flew to his bedside, sank to her knees and threw herself into Erik's waiting arms.

Erik buried his face in her curls. "Forgive me, Christine," he begged. "Please say that I have not ruined every chance of winning your heart with my egotistic jealousy, oh please, please try to forgive me one last time."

Christine wrapped her arms around Erik tightly and rested her head against his chest. "Does that mean..." she asked shyly, "do you not mind anymore that I... that Raoul..." She blushed deeply, then whispered barely audibly, "that I gave my innocence to him."

"Oh Christine," Erik sighed. "My Christine, I hurt you so badly a few days ago, but you never held it against me, and when I needed help, in my darkest hour, you did not hesitate one moment, you put aside all the hurt I had caused you and came to me. If you can forgive me for all that and for those crimes I committed so long ago... oh Christine, it is you that must forgive me, not the other way round. Forgive me for the way I treated you and for my other crimes, in Persia and at the Opéra Populaire. Will you be able to do that, my love? Will you be able to look not just past my horrible face, but also past the atrocities I have committed?"

Christine nodded against Erik's chest. "Yes," she whispered. "That was your past. That was so long ago. You are not that person anymore. The man I learned to love when I was still a small girl, has never been anything but kind, understanding and compassionate, and he loves me with all his heart."

Erik shifted, so that Christine looked up at him. "Did you mean it..." he began nervously, "you told me that... do you still feel that way?"

Christine smiled. Erik was adorable in his confusion. "What do you want to know, Angel?" she asked softly.

"Do you... I mean, will you... you said, if I wanted, you would..." Erik blushed deeply. "Marry me," he added, his voice almost too low to be heard.

Christine's whole face lit up. "Erik, did you just say, what I think you did?" she asked nervously. "If I misunderstood him and he did not just propose to me, let me die," she prayed, certain that she would not be able to survive yet another rejection by him.

Erik nodded uncertainly. "Would you consider marrying me?" he asked nervously. "I know that I have done nothing to deserve your love, but if you are still willing to put up with me..." He could not finish the sentence, for he suddenly felt Christine's lips upon his own. He moaned and surrendered only too willingly to the mystery of this woman's heart and her ability to forgive him.


	32. Engagement

Thank you all for your continued support. This is in fact my first story with more than 300 reviews! Thank you all for reading and reviewing, alerting or adding to your favorites-list! Yes, you all asked about wedding bells, and yes, we are getting there. Soon. Probably next chapter. There's a little bit of wrap-up to do first. But there is enough fluff (I hope) in this chapter to help you wait for the big moment.

Anyway, I still don't own anything or anbody, but I neer tire of finding ways to bring them together...

Chapter 31 – Engagement

It was not really their first kiss, yet in a way it was. All those years ago, the night of the fire, they had both been so confused, and recently, after Sir Toddlingham's story, Erik had not remembered everything yet nor had he known about Christine's previous marriage. Now they both finally knew everything about the other, had forgiven each other, and had realized that their love had not only survived despite everything, but had grown even stronger, and when their lips met, they both knew that they were sealing a bond that not even death could sever.

When they finally broke apart, trying to catch some air, Erik smiled at Christine. "I love you so much," he whispered, looking deep into her dark eyes.

Christine smiled back, her left hand gently caressing Erik's deformed cheek. "I love you, too, my Angel," she confessed. "And I think I would have died if you had not wanted me anymore, because of..."

"Shh," Erik comforted her, pulling her close. "You are the only one I ever wanted, and to me you will always be the brightest, purest light in my life."

Christine buried her face in his shoulder. "I knew pretty soon that I had chosen the wrong man," she admitted. "Raoul never allowed me to be myself. He did not want me to stay in contact with maman and Meg, he did not want me to sing. All he cared about was a pretty wife and an heir." She looked up. "I did not understand anymore how I could have ever left you for him. I was regretting my marriage long before it was over. But when I finally realized that I had left my heart with you, beneath the Opéra Populaire, I thought it was too late anyway, that you were dead. In a way the divorce was a relief. I did not have to pretend anymore, I could be myself again, I got my mother and sister back, and my music, and, most importantly, I found you again."

She suddenly sat up straight, remembering something important. "Erik!" she exclaimed miserably. "Do you remember why Raoul divorced me? I might not be able to give you children, I mean... I never conceived in three years... would that bother you?"

Erik shook his head. "Not at all. Maybe it's even a good thing if we do not have children," he explained to Christine. "I would not want a child to inherit this..." And he pointed to his deformity.

Christine wrapped her arms around him. "I understand," she murmured. "But still... I would love to have children." Erik realized that this was something that weighed heavily on Christine.

"We do not know for sure that you cannot... I mean..." Erik blushed. "Didn't those doctors say there was nothing wrong with you? And if it is true that you..." He gently brushed a few of her curls out of her face. "Maybe we can take in an orphan, a little boy or girl as lonely as you were when your father died..."

Christine beamed. Raoul would never have allowed her to adopt a child. He wanted one of his own. "That's why I love you," she whispered to Erik and their lips found each other again.

Xxxx

"Um." Nadir cleared his throat to make his presence known to the couple. Christine and Erik quickly let go of each other, both blushing violently. Nadir grinned.

"It seems I have arrived just in time for congratulations," he stated jovially. "It seems the two of you have finally resolved all your problems."

Erik nodded. "Christine has agreed to become my wife," he informed his friend, reaching for Christine's hand. Christine slowly stood up from where she had been kneeling next to Erik's bed. She felt a bit embarrassed. How long had Nadir been standing at the door? How much of their conversation had he overheard, how much had he seen...?

Nadir smiled at both of them. "Finally!" he breathed a sigh of relief. "It's about time! My very best wishes to both of you." He looked first at his friend, then at the latter's bride. "Erik, Madame Christine..."

"Mademoiselle," Erik interrupted his friend. "My fiancée is the purest and kindest person I can imagine."

Christine took a deep breath. "Why not just Christine?" she asked Nadir. "You are my Erik's best friend, I don't think such formalities will be needed between us."

Nadir gave Erik a questioning look, making sure he approved of Christine's offer. When the latter nodded, he turned to Christine. "In that case you will have to call me Nadir as well, just like Erik does," he stated.

Then Nadir remembered why he had come up to Erik's room. "Erik, you promised you'd eat a bit and then go to sleep again," he reminded his friend. "You have been through a lot today, and you do need to rest now, if you want to be able to talk to your future mother-in-law tomorrow and officially ask her for Christine's hand in marriage."

Erik stared at Nadir uncomprehendingly, then he burst into laughter. "Antoinette is going to be my mother-in-law!" he managed to utter between laughs. "I had not even thought about that yet!"

Nadir and Christine both joined in the laugh. It was such a rare occasion to see Erik so relaxed. Then Nadir gently shooed Christine out of the room, asking her to send up Darius with a light meal for Erik and promising her that he would see to it, that her fiancé would eat and then rest.

Xxxx

Christine ran down the stairs, her heart about to burst with happiness. She had not dared hoping anymore that Erik would ever be able to get over the fact that she had been married before, and now... she smiled happily at the memory of the kisses they had shared.

She quickly passed Nadir's message on to Darius, then went to find her adoptive mother in the parlor. "Maman," she exclaimed, throwing herself into Mme. Giry's arms. "Erik loves me after all. He has asked me to marry him!"

Mme. Giry tried hard to suppress a grin. Instead, she gave Christine a stern look and asked disapprovingly, "and you said yes? Just like that? One day he insults you and a few days later all is forgotten and you want to marry him?"

Christine anxiously looked up at her adoptive mother. "Maman," she begged, "please, do not be angry with him. Tomorrow, when Erik asks you for my hand in marriage, please give us your blessing!"

Mme. Giry smiled. "If I see that he is suitably contrite about the way he treated you..." she teased Christine, then hugged her adoptive daughter. "I am happy for you," she said. "Both of you. It took you both a long time to find the way to each other, but I am glad you did."

Xxxxx

The next day, Christine spent a long time in front of her mirror, making sure she would look her absolute best for her official engagement. She put on a white summer dress and tied her curls with a matching white ribbon. At the usual hour she and Mme. Giry walked the short distance to the cottage where Erik and Nadir lived.

Darius let them in and informed them that the masters were waiting for them in the parlor. The moment the two ladies entered the room, Erik went to meet Christine. He knelt down in front of her, took her hands in his and once again asked her to marry him. "Are you absolutely sure?" he asked, and when Christine smiled happily, he produced a small box seemingly out of thin air and held it out to her.

Christine gingerly opened it and gasped. "Oh Erik, this is beautiful," she smiled at him, while Erik slipped the ring on her finger. It was only a simple gold band, but it held a diamond in its center that seemed to have a life of its own.

Christine smiled. How different this ring was from the gaudy thing Raoul had bought her so long ago. Simple, yet warming in its brilliance, like the love that she shared with Erik.

Erik rose to his feet and was about to put his arm around his fiancée, when he remembered Mme. Giry. He lead Christine to her adoptive mother and looked at his old friend. "Antoinette," he said hesitantly, "Christine and I love each other. I therefore ask you, as her mother by adoption, to grant me her hand in marriage and to give us your blessing."

Mme. Giry frowned. "Have you grovelled at her feet?" she asked Erik. "For you treated her abysmally a few days ago and I therefore will only give you my blessing if I am convinced that you are truly sorry and that you won't treat her like that ever again."

"Maman!" Christine's eyes begged her mother to go easy on her Angel. But Erik sank to his knees again and buried his face in Christine's belly.

"I know I do not deserve her, Antoinette," he sobbed, "Christine stands so high above me in every single regard, and I have called her terrible things and hurt her badly. It is my own fault that she left me those three and a half years ago, but she has found it in her heart to forgive me. Please, Antoinette, she is the light that will be able to chase the darkness in which I have lived so far, she is my life."

Mme. Giry smiled. "Stand up, Erik," she said, "and kiss your bride. I give you my blessing. I know that you two belong together and I am happy for both of you."

Erik jumped to his feet and pulled Christine close. He looked her deep into the eyes, then slowly lowered his lips to hers. Christine wrapped her arms around him and deepened the kiss. Nadir and Mme. Giry smiled at each other as the couple forgot everything around them in their embrace. They were both relieved that their two charges were finally happy together.

Xxxx

A while later, Meg joined the group. She had gotten off from rehearsal a bit earlier and therefore was able to join her sister's engagement party.

After congratulating both, Christine and Erik, on their engagement, she turned to Christine. "Are you still planning to return to the stage?" she asked.

Christine and Erik looked at each other, then Christine said. "If you do not object, Erik, I would love to. You will be occupied during the day with your work, and I will need something to do as well. I do miss the busy schedule of the Opéra Populaire, and if I could attend rehearsals with Meg..."

Erik smiled. He had hoped that Christine would still want to pursue her career, since in his opinion it would be a terrible waste of talent if she decided only to sing at home. But he had decided to leave it up to her.

"Wonderful!" Meg exclaimed enthusiastically. "I would love to have you there at rehearsals again. And guess what? They are holding auditions in two weeks. I know that they are mostly trying to fill a few vacant positions in the choir, but they are always looking for new talent as well. Erik, do you think she is ready? Can she audition then?"

After giving it some thought, Erik and Christine agreed that Christine would audition in two weeks. "But promise to marry me before your debut," Erik begged. "So that your audience will know right from the start that you are mine and so that they won't have to get used to your new name after our wedding."

Christine laughed. She was fairly confident that she would be hired once she'd had a chance to audition, but she also knew from Meg that the next two new productions were already cast and that she therefore could only hope to get a part in early fall at best. "I am sure I will be Madame Lavoisier long before my debut," she promised.

It was decided that after their wedding, Christine would move in with Erik. Nadir would still stay with them as well, which was convenient since he and Erik always had a lot of business-related issues to discuss. Nadir would have his own living room, though, so that he could give the couple some privacy. Erik and Christine would have the whole first floor to themselves, and all three would use the parlor, dining room and living room downstairs. Darius would still take care of the household.

"In a month, two at the most, we can have it all arranged," Erik promised, "then we can get married." Christine beamed at him, and their fingers interlaced under the table, where the others could not see it.

Xxxx

Three days later they all met at Sir Toddlingham's house. As promised, Lord Castleborough was also there. Eliza Toddlingham welcomed them all to her home. Her husband introduced his new friends to her, and she quickly glanced from Christine to Erik, then smiled. "I think my intervention is not necessary anymore, Reg," she said to her husband, then turned to the fiancés. "My Reginald told me how he met you all at Lord Castleborough's the other day," she explained. "He is a very wise and sensitive man, you must know. He said to me, Eliza, this poor man Lavoisier, whose face is in no way better than mine, he adores that young lady, the ballerina's sister, and she returns his feelings, but something is keeping them apart. I hope it's not his face, but if so, maybe you can help them..."

She smiled at Christine. "But the two of you have figured it out on your own, have you not? You do not need any help anymore..."

Erik proudly told them, that Christine had agreed to marry him. The Toddlinghams and Lord Castleborough congratulated the couple and Erik promised to send themn invitations to the wedding.

Christine and Eliza immediately liked each other. They both had learned to look beyond the surface and to appreciate the beauty in the hearts of their respective men. "My Reginald is a wonderful man," Eliza confided in Christine, "and I love him dearly. I only just met your Erik, but the way he looks at you... I am sure the two of you will be as happy as me and Reg. It's not always easy, though. From time to time Reg will get depressed because of his face, and consider himself less of a human being because of it..."

Christine nodded. "Just like Erik," she agreed. "Of course this is nonsense. He has so many wonderful qualities that are so much more important than a handsome face, but because of his face, he thinks of himself as somewhat inferior..."

"When Reg starts like that, I usually do my best to make him understand how much I love and need him," Eliza explained. "Sometimes it takes a day or two, but in the end he always comes around and realizes that it is not all that important, since he won my heart despite his scars, and who knows if we would ever have met had he not been injured."

Christine smiled. She wondered if she would ever have met Erik if he had not lived underneath the Opéra Populaire when she had been sent there after her father's death. "I will remember that approach," she promised Eliza.

Xxxx

Two weeks later, Christine auditioned at the Opera house. When she announced that she was going to sing Violetta's long scene from the end of Act I of "La Traviata", the conductor and the manager exchanged a curious look, but said nothing.

Christine took up her position next to the piano and concentrated. She used to sing the first part of the scene a tiny bit more slowly than the pianist played it, but she adjusted well to his tempo. She poured all her love into the lyrical part of the aria, and when she reached the fast coloratura part, she sounded joyful and exuberant, determined not to let anything or anybody make her change her ways.

When she was finished, everybody remained silent for a moment, then the manager looked at the conductor and both smiled. The manager then turned to Christine and said, "Miss Giry, when you told us you had chosen this particular aria for your audition, we thought that maybe somehow your sister had found out that we are planning to stage this beautiful opera in September and that you were trying to show us that you can do the part of Violetta. But after hearing you, all we can say is, it does not matter if you knew or not, we have found our leading lady for that particular production. We have never heard this challenging scene sung so perfectly."

Meg, who had been allowed to attend her sister's audition, jumped up and hugged Christine. The manager smiled. "I think it would be a good idea to let Miss Marguerite dance the solo part in the ball scene, the gypsy girl. It will be sensational: Two sisters excelling at two totally different arts, appearing in the same production!"

Christine and Meg hugged each other again and said that they would love that very much, then Christine remembered something. "You will not be able to advertise me as Christine Giry, though," she confessed. "By then, I will be Madame Lavoisier. I am engaged to be married in about a month."

"Lavoisier?" the manager asked. "You do not by chance mean that fashionable architect that all of London is talking about? That genius that nobody has met in person?"

Christine smiled. "That is indeed my fiancé," she admitted. "But it is not true, that nobody has met him in person. In fact, he is well acquainted with Lord Castleborough and especially with Sir Toddlingham."

"We will still be able to advertise the two of you as sisters," the conductor chimed in. "After all, it is normal, that sisters don't share the same last name anymore, once one of them gets married. It will be spectacular. Miss Marguerite has already established herself with her role as Myrta, and when we tell the audience now that her sister will be singing Violetta, because she is every bit as fantastic a singer as Miss Marguerite is a dancer, we will be sold out within days of making that announcement. We probably would be able to sell twice as many tickets as we have seats. You will of course get the box again, for your mother, and for Monsieur Lavoisier."

Xxxx

Christine went to see Erik immediately after her audition to tell him of her success and of the strange coincidence that they were planning to do "La Traviata" anyway, and had been so impressed with her that she had been offered the lead – and Meg would be dancing in the ball scene.

"And I'll get the box for you and maman, and Nadir can come as well, and maybe the Toddlinghams and Lord Castleborough?" she told Erik excitedly.

Erik pulled her into his arms and kissed her, then he gazed at her lovingly and said, "we will all be there to celebrate your debut, my love. By then you will be my wife. I got everything planned. The house will be ready in early August, if we figure in some unforeseeable delay, it should still be ready by mid-August. Shall we set a date, Christine? Will you marry me on August 15?"


	33. Marriage

Sorry for the delay, but as mentioned, I have a houseguest staying with me. This is almost the end, but there is an epilogue coming, which I think you might like...

Thank you all for staying with me for the entirety of this story, fir reading, reviewing, alerting and favoriting. I hope you will all move over to my other story - if you haven't done so yet, that is - and follow it just as faithfully. It's titled "When We've Said Goodbye".

I still don't own anything or anybody, but boywould I love to! ;-)

Chapter 32 – Marriage

Christine beamed. "Of course, my Angel," she whispered, "August 15 sounds like the perfect date to me." She looked down, suddenly sad. "I just wish we could get married in church," she sighed. "It would mean so much more if we could exchange our vows in front of the altar."

Erik stared at her uncomprehendingly. "Why would we not be able to get married in church?" he asked. He personally did not care where and how they would get married, as long as he got some written proof that Christine was his rightful wife.

"Because of my divorce," Christine explained. "The church does not recognize divorces. I therefore can only have a civil marriage now."

Erik was surprised to hear that. He had never thought about such things. A civil marriage would be perfectly fine in his opinion, but he had a feeling that this detail mattered to Christine. He therefore made a mental note to investigate this issue and if possible, find a way that Christine could have her wedding in a church.

Xxxx

The next Sunday, when the Girys had tea with Erik and Nadir, Erik announced that he and Christine would get married on August 15. Then he turned to Christine and smiled at her. "I talked to Father Paul, who will also be marrying Sir Toddlingham's daughter next week, and he has agreed to do the same for us. He knows that you have been married before, but for the Church of England this does not constitute a problem."

Christine was not quite convinced. "But I am catholic," she reminded Erik. "And as a catholic I should not get married in church again."

Erik smiled. He was prepared for that argument. "Are you really?" he asked. "I know you have been attending catholic services most of your life, but you are Swedish, my dear, and Sweden is a protestant country. It will be perfectly fine for a divorced protestant woman like you to get married by the Church of England. I have informed myself. It will be as valid and binding as if you had never been married before."

Christine beamed at Erik and hugged him. She knew how little he cared about the church and that he had gone to such lengths to find a way to give her what she secretly desired moved her to tears. "My Angel," she whispered. "You are so good to me. I will never be able to thank you enough for all you are doing for me."

Erik pulled her close. "Your love is all I want in return," he said huskily, before his lips found hers.

Xxxx

On August 15, the wedding took place in a little chapel near Sir Toddlingham's town house. Father Paul conducted the ceremony, as promised, Mme. Giry gave Christine away and Meg was the bridesmaid. Sir Toddlingham acted as Erik's best man, since Nadir's Muslim faith was considered a bit of a hindrance. He and Darius were in attendance, though, as was Lord Castleborough and Sir Toddlingham's entire family, which in addition to his wife Eliza consisted of his newly-wed daughter Gwendolyn, his son-in-law Henry and his teenage son Malcolm.

Christine looked like an angel in a copy of the wedding dress that Erik had designed for her so long ago. She had insisted on getting married in such a dress. Somehow it seemed to her that by accepting that dress she could erase the years that lay between the day she had first laid eyes on it and today. By becoming the bride that Erik had wanted her to be back then, by looking the way he had envisioned his bride then, she hoped to make them both forget the past three years. "And I was wearing such a dress the first time I ever kissed you," she had added. "I want to wear a replica of that dress when I finally give myself to you for the rest of our lives."

When Christine and Erik spoke their vows, Christine was reminded for a brief moment of another wedding to another groom, when she had made similar promises. Those vows had not lasted very long, but when she hesitantly looked at her Angel, checking if he was thinking similar thoughts, he gave her a reassuring smile and grabbed her hand. Christine felt all warm and cozy inside. No, this time was different. This time their vows would really bind them together till death and beyond, for this time she was marrying her soul mate, the man she had always been meant to be with.

Xxxx

Darius had prepared a wedding reception for his beloved master Erik and "our lady" as he called Christine. Lord Castleborough and the Toddlinghams, as well as Father Paul enjoyed the food, among which there were some Persian delicacies they were not used to, and everybody admired the beautiful cake, which Erik and Christine cut for them together.

Once the wedding guests had gone home, the couple was finally left alone. When Erik lead his wife to their bedroom, Christine noticed that he was nervous. She smiled at her new husband encouragingly. She was a bit nervous herself. Once again she cursed the fact that she had been married before. How much more meaningful this night might have been if she were still a virgin, if Erik were the first and only man ever to make love to her, if he could have been the one to turn her from a girl into a woman.

Erik finally spoke. "We don't have to,…" he began cautiously. "I mean, I fully understand if you do not want to…"

Christine stared at him, unsure if she understood what he had just told her. "You do not want to make love to me?" she asked, tears welling in her dark eyes. Apparently Erik did not want her, the used woman, after all.

"That's not it," Erik was eager to explain. "On the contrary, there is nothing in the world I'd rather do than making love to you, my wife." His voice was full of love and pride when he pronounced the word "wife". "It's just that I…" he looked away, embarrassed. "I already told you, that night.. my face… it has denied me the joys of the flesh. I have never… I mean, I do not know how to pleasure a woman," he blurted out, blushing at this confession. "You have prior experience," Erik continued. "You probably have certain expectations, and I…." Erik faced the wall, when he added, dejectedly, "I fear I would disappoint you."

Christine wrapped her arms around him from behind, burying her face in his back. "You won't disappoint me," she whispered. "You are all I want, your love, your caresses. I want to be yours in every sense of the word. Please Erik, I want to be your wife." She turned him around, so that he was facing her. "I love you," she whispered, caressing his deformed cheek and looking him deep into the eyes.

"I love you too," Erik groaned, before their lips met in a passionate kiss. It was as if that kiss had cured him of his doubts. He felt confident now, having been reminded once more that Christine truly loved him and wanted him. His hands and lips began to explore his wife's body, and once their items of clothing started to come off, he felt her little hands and lips on his bare flesh as well. A jolt of pleasure shook his body, once his hands connected with Christine's bare breasts, and when he tentatively lowered his mouth to one of her nipples, teasing it with his lips and tongue, he was rewarded with Christine's moan of pleasure and he was finally convinced that he might be able to make this enjoyable for her as well.

They did not grow tired in exploring each other's bodies, arousing each other more and more in doing so, and when they finally joined, their union seemed to them like a celebration of love and passion beyond anything they had ever dreamed of.

Afterwards they lay in each other's arms, happily enjoying the afterglow of their lovemaking. "This was wonderful," Christine whispered to her Angel. "This was the most exquisite experience I have ever had. Thank you for your love, my Erik."

Erik took in her happy smile. "You did not miss anything?" he asked uncertainly. "I did everything right?"

Christine put a finger on his lips to silence him. "You were phenomenal," she reassured him. "This was unlike anything I have ever experienced." She looked Erik in the eyes, saw the unspoken question there and softly answered it. "It was nothing like that with Raoul," she told Erik. "You taught me the true meaning and pleasure of physical love."

Their lips found each other again and they once again celebrated their love by joining, body and soul, and becoming one again.

Xxxx

In mid-September the new production of "La Traviata" opened and Christine debuted at the London opera as Violetta. Meg danced the solo in the ball scene, and Mme. Giry proudly sat in the box, admiring her two girls. She was accompanied by Erik and Nadir, as well as the Toddlinghams and Lord Castleborough. Christine was listed as Mme. Lavoisier on the playbill, but everybody in the audience knew that she was the ballerina's sister.

Christine's flawless singing technique as well as her inspired interpretation won her the hearts of the audience as well as those of the press. For days, London society was talking about nothing else but the extraordinary talents of the two Giry sisters. For weeks every single performance was sold out, and both, Christine and Meg, performed to roaring applause.

Mme. Giry and Erik attended every performance. They usually were backstage, waiting for the two sisters in one of their dressing rooms. About two weeks into the run of "La Traviata" Erik noticed that Christine was sounding tired towards the end of the performance. Since her character Violetta was supposedly dying at that point, this only added more credibility to her performance. She looked rather pale, too. Erik was worried. What was the matter with Christine? Was she ill?

Mme. Giry had obviously noticed something as well. She quickly glanced at Erik, but his features only expressed concern. He did not seem to have the same suspicion she was having. She decided she had to talk to Christine, alone.

"I think Christine might need some water," she therefore told Erik, the moment the curtain fell. "Will you get it for her? I'll see her to her dressing room." Erik nodded and left to fetch something to drink for his wife, while Mme. Giry helped a queasy Christine to her dressing room.

The moment they arrived there, Christine was violently sick. "I must have eaten something that did not agree with me," Christine mumbled miserably. "I have not been feeling well for at least two days now. I have tried to keep it from Erik, since it's probably nothing. I do not want him to worry over an upset stomach…"

Mme. Giry gave her a quizzical look. "Are you sure it is an… upset stomach?" she asked, putting an emphasis on every single word.

Christine stared at her. "What else could it be?" she asked nervously. "You do not think it is more serious?"

Mme. Giry shook her head. "No, I was thinking that maybe…" Then she faced Christine directly. "When was the last time you bled?"

Christine's eyes widened as the meaning of these words hit her. "You do not think… I could be… but how… I never…" she stammered.

Mme. Giry smiled. "I do not know for sure," she admitted, "but the symptoms certainly point that way. I will take you to a midwife tomorrow and she will be able to tell us if I am right."

As Erik returned that moment with a glass of water, they changed the topic, pretending that Christine was fighting an upset stomach.

Xxxxx

The next day, Mme. Giry and Christine went to see a midwife that Eliza Toddlingham had recommended to them. The experienced elderly lady quickly confirmed Mme. Giry's suspicion. "Congratulations, Mme. Lavoisier," she told Christine, "in about eight months you will be holding your baby." She then smiled at Mme. Giry. "You'd better get used to becoming a grandmother, Madam," she added.

Christine was overwhelmed. She could barely believe it. "How is this possible?" she asked her adoptive mother over and over again. "I thought I could not have children, and now…"

Mme. Giry smiled. She had never been too convinced of Christine's supposed inability to have children. "Maybe you are just more compatible with Erik," she tried to explain the situation.

Christine was overjoyed. Erik realized immediately how much this pregnancy meant to her. So, even though he was deeply worried that their baby might inherit his disfigurement or that something might go wrong during the pregnancy or childbirth, he kept his own fears to himself and showed nothing but joy about the baby.

The only ones not particularly happy with the news were the manager and casting director at the opera. They had already been planning another production with Christine for the following January, when she told them that she would be unavailable by then since she was with child and would already be showing then. She did promise to return to the stage, though, once her baby would be born.

Xxxx

In late May the following year, Christine was about to give birth to her first child. She still was in awe at the fact that despite all the evidence to the contrary she was indeed able to carry a child. The first few months of her pregnancy she had been very nervous, fearing that something might go wrong and cause her to lose the baby, but the further along she got in her pregnancy, the more confident she became that everything would be fine. The midwife had examined her repeatedly and had assured her that everything was in order and no complications to be expected.

And now the big day had arrived. Her water had broken in the morning, and Erik had sent for both, the midwife and Mme. Giry. The midwife had tried to chase Erik out of the room. She was not used to the presence of a man when delivering a baby and it made her slightly nervous. Erik was adamant, though, that he would not leave his wife at such a time. Christine was obviously in pain and needed him with her.

Once the midwife realized that the husband's presence had a calming influence on the young mother to be, she therefore grudgingly gave him permission to stay with Christine during the whole process. "It may take a while," she took Erik aside to tell him," since it is her first child. It may seem terrible, but women have been giving birth for centuries now, and there is no reason to expect complications, so no matter how bad it seems, don't panic, Sir. You need to remain calm, if you cannot do that, you'd better leave now. I will have to concentrate on your wife and the baby she is about to give birth to, if you distract me, you may endanger them. Do you understand?"

Erik nodded grimly. Nothing and nobody would make him leave his Christine when she was in so much pain.

Several hours passed and Christine was starting to feel exhausted from the pain. Then the intervals between the contractions got shorter and shorter. The midwife smiled. "You are almost fully dilated," she told Christine. "It won't be long now. Soon you will be holding your baby."

When the next contraction hit, the midwife told Christine to push. Then she smiled. "I can see it," she informed the young mother to be. "With some luck the head will be out after the next contraction."

Christine tried to smile at Erik, who was sitting at her bedside, holding her hand, when another wave of searing pain tore through her. She instinctively pushed and was told by the midwife that the infant's head had emerged and all would be over with the next contraction. Christine almost broke Erik's hand the next moment, gripping it hard when the final contraction hit her. She pushed once more and was rewarded by the healthy cries of a newborn.

Christine lay exhausted in her pillows and smiled up at Erik. "Our baby," she whispered. "We have a baby."

"It is a healthy girl," the midwife announced. "Congratulations, Madam, Sir." She handed the little girl to Mme. Giry, so that the latter could clean up the infant, while she tended to Christine. "All went well," she then informed the couple, and, turned to Christine, she added, "you should stay in bed for a few days, but I am confident that in about a week or so you will be back on your feet."

In the meantime Mme. Giry had bathed her new granddaughter and wrapped the baby in a soft towel. She handed the bundle to Christine. "She is adorable," she told the young mother, then watched, deeply moved, as the new parents looked at their daughter for the first time.

Erik had given his old friend a nervous look when she placed the baby in Christine's arms. He did not dare look at his child. What if…? But when he saw Christine's happy smile he finally glanced at their daughter as well. He was overwhelmed. The tiny baby in his wife's arms was perfect. Everything about their daughter was beautiful. She was a perfectly normal, healthy baby, with no birth defect of any kind. And she was easily the most exquisite creature he had ever seen. "She has your mouth and chin," he whispered to Christine, "and her hair will be the same color as yours."

The infant choose this very moment to open her eyes and start screaming. "She has your eyes," Christine sighed happily.

"And she is hungry," the midwife explained, showing to Christine how she could feed her daughter. "Does the young lady have a name already?" she then asked the parents. "I need to write out her birth certificate."

Christine looked at Erik. "Eliza Toddlingham has offered to be the godmother if it's a girl," she said. "And Meg as well. How about naming her Eliza Marguerite?"

Erik nodded. "Those a beautiful, strong names," he agreed. "Our daughter will therefore be Eliza Marguerite Lavoisier."


	34. Epilogue

There we go, that's the end of the story. Thank you all for staying with me till the end of it, and I hope most of you will continue reading my other story, "When We've Said Goodbye", were things are about to get interesting. Thank you to all my regular reviewers, to all of you, who have put this story on alert and who have added it to your favorites. I usually do not reply to every single review, I rather spend my time writing a new chapter, but every single review is valued. I want you all to know that.

I still don't own anything or anybody, but by now I am sure you know that.

Epilogue

Erik was in awe. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected to ever have a child of his own. Having a wife already exceeded all his expectations, but the baby that his Christine had given him was the greatest miracle in his opinion. He could spend hours sitting there and watching his daughter sleep.

Christine's feelings towards her little Angel were similar. She had always wanted children, but after never having gotten pregnant in three years of marriage to Raoul, she had given up hope of this ever happening. Therefore little Eliza Marguerite was to her not just the crowning of her love for Erik, but the most special gift her husband had given her.

The young parents were not the only ones doting on the newest arrival of the family, though. Mme. Giry was a proud grandmother and Meg a loving aunt. Nadir and Darius adored the little one as well, and almost behaved like fathers around her. Erik and Christine had to promise them that their daughter would address them as "uncle Nadir" and "uncle Darius" respectively, once she would be old enough to speak.

The Toddlinghams, whose first grandson arrived within weeks of little Eliza's birth, had their own little bundle of joy to adore, but they had developed a certain kinship with Erik and Christine and therefore were incredibly happy about their friends' little daughter as well. Lord Castleborough also offered himself as an uncle for "the little Lavoisier girl", as he used to call Eliza Marguerite.

The following September Christine returned to the stage. She usually took her infant with her to rehearsals, and Mme. Giry accompanied her. The cute baby was soon the favorite of the whole ensemble.

About two months after her daughter's first birthday, Christine knew that she was pregnant again, and the following spring she gave birth to a healthy boy. Charles Gustave was almost an exact replica of his father, except that his face was perfectly normal, and his eyes reminded his mother more of those of her own, dear papa. He was therefore named after his two grandfathers, since he combined the best of both families.

Another year went by. Meg was preparing her wedding to a young musician who played in the Opera's orchestra and Christine had once again returned to the stage. Once Charles Gustave was old enough that she did not breastfeed him anymore, she stopped taking the children with her to rehearsals. Eliza Marguerite was three years old by now and found it boring to sit in the theater and watch her mother sing and her little brother at 15 months was not easily kept quiet either.

Mme. Giry therefore used to take the children for a walk while Christine was at the rehearsals, to give Erik time to work on his designs. He was getting more and more popular with each satisfied customer and both, Lord Castleborough and Sir Toddlingham, recommended his services to their friends.

It was a beautiful, sunny spring day. Mme. Giry had taken her two grandchildren to a nearby park, where the two little ones played with other children, most of which they already knew. Today, there was a little boy, though, that Mme. Giry had not seen before. He might have been about two years of age, but he looked sickly, very weak for his age. He was incredibly thin and pale, and every movement seemed to cause him pain.

Mme. Giry's heart went out to the poor little boy and to his parents. How sad it must be to see one's child suffer like that! The boy seemed to be with a nurse, though. Mme. Giry could not detect any sign of the poor child's mother and she began to wonder if the sickly child was maybe as much of a burden to his parents as Erik once had been, when she heard a familiar voice chastise the nurse.

"Nancy, what have I told you?" an elegantly clad man raged at the nurse. "Armand is not to run around with other children. He can catch all sorts of illnesses from those commoner brats." He turned around to fetch the thin boy when his eyes met those of Mme. Giry.

Once the man had started screaming at his son's nurse, all the children had been scared and had taken refuge with their respective parents. Eliza Marguerite and Charles Gustave were therefore clinging to Mme. Giry now, tears in their eyes, begging their grandmother to protect them against that furious stranger.

Raoul de Chagny stared at the former ballet mistress, then at the two beautiful, healthy children, that were so much stronger and more robust than his pitiful little heir. "Mme. Giry," he acknowledged her. "I was not aware that Miss Meg is married…."

Mme. Giry shook her head. "Oh no, Monsieur le Vicomte," she explained. "These are not Meg's children, they are Christine's. My adopted daughter is now married to the famous architect Lavoisier, and strangely enough, with him she never had problems to conceive." She grabbed the hands of her two grandchildren, then looked at the Vicomte's weakling of a son. "It seems it was not her fault after all that she could not give you an heir," she said pointedly, then added, "good day, Monsieur le Vicomte," and walked away.


End file.
